


Pass/Fail

by Boyue



Category: South Park
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Derogatory Language, Everyone wants a piece of Kyle, Explicit Language, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Minor Violence, Slow Build, Stan is the love interest, Underage Drinking, this fic is spiraling out of control
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-06-06 12:12:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 55,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6753340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boyue/pseuds/Boyue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Freshman year of college isn't easy for Kyle and that's not considering that he has to deal with an insensitive roommate, a big crush on his hallmate, and a homeless student who might or might not be a superhero.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Intro to Conflict Management

**Author's Note:**

> Style is the main pairing with some side pairings. Please note for South Park-esque offensive language.

_In this introductory course, students will learn effective approaches to resolve conflicts when everyone around them is a fucking asshole._

* * *

“Kahl, Kahl. Are you listening, Kahl? ‘ey, Kahl. Are you listening? Kahl. Kahl. Kahl... Kahl, c’mon, my Jewbro. Kahl. C’mon.” 

Kyle likes to believe that he’s a good person. He’s been a good son to his parents and a great brother to Ike. He spends his spare time helping the needy. He did his chores when he was a kid and he always flosses. He doesn't steal. He doesn't lie (little white lies do not count). He downloaded illegally maybe a total of three times. Overall, he’s been a really, really decent person who always stays on the virtuous path.

So what have he done to deserve Eric Theodore Cartman as his roommate? Is God punishing him? Is this the first trial of something grander planned for him? Or is this just some fucking twisted joke?

“Kahl. Listen. ‘ey, Kahl. Listen to me!”

Kyle takes a shaky breath and turns up the volume on his ipod. It’s no use, really. Even if he can’t audibly hear Eric’s obnoxious voice and mispronouncing of his name, Eric’s sheer presence is enough to make writing his paper impossible. It’s the first paper of the semester; Kyle really doesn’t want to screw up his grade right off the bat. It's his own naïveté at fault though. Why did he ever think he could have a moment of peace in his own room?

He sets his attention on his laptop screen and stares at the blinking cursor. His fingers clank over the keyboard and re-types his introductory paragraph for the fourth time. The words aren’t coming out right. He can’t put his thoughts together in a coherent presentation. Eric getting off the bed and coming toward him just makes him more anxious. It’s not even a hard paper to write. He just can’t concentrate if his life depends on it. The digital clock warns him it’s almost six o’clock. If he wants to ask his T.A. for a look-over and turn it in time to his professor, he needs to haul ass.

He shoots Eric a quick glance when Eric stops next to his desk. Eric is blabbering something he can’t catch through the music. He has no qualm ignoring Eric and looks back at his paper that isn’t writing itself. He pulls his notebook closer to him and scans through the notes, hoping it will gather his thoughts together. His eyes are off the screen for maybe five, ten seconds but when he lifts his head up, it’s a black screen that’s looking back at him.

Eric is standing up with his phone plugged with the power cable. Kyle doesn’t have to look to put two and two together and knows that his laptop cable is unplugged from the outlet. Of course. Of fucking course. He takes out his headphones and glares at Eric.

“Cartman, what the fuck’s your problem?” Kyle is honestly surprised at how calm he sounds when he wants nothing more than to strangle Eric with the charger.

“Well, Kahl, I asked if I could unplug your laptop to charge my phone and that if you’re okay with it, you don’t have to answer,” Eric says as a matter-of-factly. He bats his eyes at Kyle, feigning the most pretentiously innocent face. “Did I do something wrong?”

Kyle bends down to check the extension cord. With Eric’s charger, there’s no spare outlet to plug his laptop back in. “Are you a fucking nine-year-old?” Then in an equally childish act, he crawls under his desk and yanks Eric’s charger right out of the socket.

“‘ey, I was using that!”

“You unplugged my laptop! I could’ve lost my work,” Kyle says as he struggles to get the prongs in the correct sockets.

“Oh? And what were you working on? Let me guess. A discourse on gender inequity in Sesame Street for your Tumblr?”

“What---? No.” Kyle looks up from the floor.  “My Econ paper, if you have to know. Unlike you, _I_ actually care about my grades and _I_ actually am here for an education. I don’t sit on my fat ass all days watching Gilmore Girls reruns.”

“Unlike you, I’m smart enough to use the tools at my disposal so I don’t have to do stupid assignments. You have to learn how to beat the system. I don’t understand, Kahl. We’re both Jews. How can you be so lame when I’m so cool? I guess not all Jews are created equal.” 

“For the last fucking time, stop saying you’re a Jew,” Kyle shouts as he stands up and forgoes plugging his laptop back in. “You’re not a Jew. You’re a racist fatfuck who’s clearly a psycho.” 

“Don’t be so quick to anger, Kahl. Our people don’t need another bad stereotype.” 

“You are not my people and my name is not _Kahl_.” 

Kyle picks up his laptop and shoves it into his messenger bag. He gathers the rest of his stuff he needs for the paper while Eric watches on and twirls the phone charger around his fingers. 

“Where you going, Kahl? I didn’t finish telling you what happened to Pete Melman.” 

Who the hell even is Pete Melman? It doesn't matter. Kyle can’t stay another minute here or he might end up on the news for murdering his roommate. He slings his bag over his shoulder, grabs his keys, and heads for the door without giving Eric a second look. The last thing he hears before he slams the door is Eric’s last ditch “Pete Melman shat his pants in class.” 

Kyle’s angry storm-off doesn’t get him too far. To get out of his suite-style dorm, he first has to pass through the communal lounge-slash-living room where his suitemate, Stan Marsh, is currently watching TV. Tall, handsome, athletic Stan Marsh. The (dream) boy next door. Why didn’t he end up being roommate with Stan instead? Think of the sufferings he could’ve been spared. On a second thought, that's probably a bad idea in a different way. He wouldn't be able to concentrate either for sure if he had to share close quarter with Stan. 

Stan looks over at him as soon as he enters the proximity and has a sympathetic and slightly curious smile on his face. “What did the fatass do this time?” 

“Where do I even start?” Kyle says with a heaved sigh, adjusting his bag. “Sorry… Were we loud? Could you hear us?” 

“No, the walls are pretty thick, thank God. But it’s obvious from the look on your face.” 

“What do I look like?” 

“Uhhh, like someone just told you Santa isn’t real and it’s just your school teacher and he’s also fucking your mom?” 

Kyle chuckles. It feels good to laugh after dealing with Eric. He doesn’t want to sound like a dork with a mad crush but maybe that’s why he likes Stan too. Even though they haven’t interacted much outside of cordial greetings and small talks, Stan always manages to put a smile on his face when he needs it the most. Seriously, is it too late to request a roommate change? 

“Trust me, Santa could be fucking my dad too and I’d be more okay with it than having to live with Cartman.”

The way Stan laughs sends tingles through Kyle’s spine. He has to look elsewhere before he gets caught staring at Stan’s eye crinkles. He adjusts his bag again even though it isn’t bothering him and reminds himself that he still has a paper to write regardless of what happened. “I got into a fight with my fatass prick roommate” probably doesn’t pass for an excuse. 

“I don’t doubt it, man.” Stan nods at the bag and asks, “You heading out?” 

“Oh, I’m just going to the library. I need some place quiet without Cartman’s farts every two minute.” 

“Hey, if you need somewhere to study, you can use my room,” Stan offers causally like it’s not a big freaking deal to Kyle. “Clyde's not here and I promise my farts aren’t as bad as Cartman’s.” 

The invite is tempting. Very, very tempting. Stan won’t disrupt him like Eric does, and it’s not like he doesn’t want to know Stan better. He does, on the other hand, want to finish his paper in peace without getting distracted by Stan’s collarbone. 

“That's really nice of you. I appreciate the gesture, but it’s going to take me a while. I don’t want to bother you. Thanks though. I mean it, man.” 

“You sure? I’m a night owl so it’s not like you’ll keep me up.” 

Kyle should get commended for his self-control. He shakes his head and smiles appreciatively.  “Yeah, I’m sure. Where’s Clyde anyway?” 

“He’s hanging out up at Craig’s with Kevin ‘cause Craig’s over at Tweek’s. I think they kicked Butters out. I saw him in the common room. Token, too. They're just hanging out. I don’t think they have anything to say to each other though.” Stan shrugs and smiles. “The offer stands if you ever  change your mind or just wanna hang out. With everyone room-hopping, I could use the company.” 

Kyle tries not to let what Stan says get to his head. That’s totally not flirting, is it? No, Stan’s a nice guy; he would've offer the same to anyone else, Kyle’s sure. He nods, adjusts his bag for the millionth time, and walks away with a goodbye wave. 

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks again, Stan. I’ll see you later.” 

“Later, dude. Be safe.”

* * *

The quiet of the library is exactly what Kyle needed. By the time he wraps up his paper with a closing statement, it's getting close to midnight and the library staff is preparing to kick everyone out. Kyle would've liked a little more time to go over his paper again for errors and consistency, but he figures that's something he can do in his room even with Eric there. The section he's in is fairly devoid of anyone except for a few like-minded students. Now that his headphones are off, he can hear a distant conversation a couple tables away as he packs his stuff up. 

A guy, in a tacky orange parka that needs a good wash (or even thrown out completely) is leaning on the table on his elbows. Across from him is a girl with straight red hair and a pissed-off face. They aren't talking particularly loud, but the empty ambience amplifies their voices just enough for Kyle to hear.

“My room’s not a motel. If you need a place to crash, why don't you ask Monica? Or Lola? Or Heidi? You must have tons of choices. Oh! Or did they all tell you to go fuck yourself because you’re an asshole?” 

“Aww, c’mon, Red. It's not like that with them. They’re just my friends. They aren’t you. I thought you and me were having fun together, weren’t we?” The guy reaches across to take the girl's hands. All he gets is the girl pulling away and angrily packing up her books. 

“Fuck off, Kenny. I'm so sick of your bullshit,” the redhead says as she stands up. “Go screw over some other girl.” 

The girl stomps from the table and cuts in front of Kyle to get out of the library. Out of curiosity, Kyle takes a sly glance at the guy and sees him looking down at his hands. The guy looks more lost than a scumbug in that moment. Kyle almost feels sorry for him but if what the girl said is true, this Kenny probably doesn't deserve sympathy. Not that he’s exactly planning to offer a stranger his place to spend the night. 

Stepping out of the library, Kyle adjusts his scarf and huddles into the warmth. September is relentless as is, but the night temperature is testing even him who grew up in a winter hellhole. He is so not looking forward to the first snowfall and how that’ll make going to classes a nightmare. But for now, he’s thinking more about the microwave burrito in the mini fridge. He hopes against hope Eric didn’t take it without asking again because he’s freaking starving. 

The campus is sparsely lit with scattered lamp posts that don’t do much to illuminate the way. It isn’t bad, but if there were a pile of dog shit in front of him, he might not realize he’s stepped in it until after the fact. What he should’ve been more worried about though isn’t feces but the man walking steadily a yard behind him. He notices he’s being followed too late. When he picks up his pace and clutches through his pocket for his phone, rapid footsteps close the distance between them and he feels the sharp jab at his back. He doesn't need to turn around to know that it's a knife pressing into him. 

And that’s about when Kyle comes to accept that God is in fact punishing him. 

“Give me your bag,” the mugger says in a hushed whisper and nudges the knife. 

Kyle feels more exasperated than angry, to be honest. If the mugger wanted to draw blood, he would’ve done it already. Kyle figures he’ll be free to wallow in his misery as soon as he hands over the bag. Yes, his laptop is in the bag, and yes, fuck, the paper he spent the last five hours writing is going to be lost. But is it really worth getting stabbed over? The answer surprises him. 

“Hey, take it easy...” Kyle holds his hands up in a peace gesture and turns his head a little. A sharp push from the knife stops him from turning all the way and seeing the mugger’s face. He breathes through his nose to calm his nerves. Look at him trying to negotiate his mugging. “I can’t give you my bag... How about you take my wallet instead? There’s like eighty bucks and my credit card’s in there.” 

“Are you fucking with me?” The mugger pokes the knife into his back again. “Give me your fucking bag, asshole!” 

“You don’t understand! I worked really hard on that damn paper, okay?” Kyle almost shouts. “It’s going to get me an _A_ . _A-_ at least.” 

At this point, the mugger probably realizes how ridiculous it is to argue and shoves Kyle to the ground. Kyle doesn't have the time to do anything before the mugger stomps on his stomach. It knocks the air right out of him. While Kyle gasps for breath like a fish out of water, the mugger yanks the bag off and slings it onto his shoulder. He backs up a few steps then waves the pocket knife threateningly at Kyle. 

“Your wallet. Give me your wallet.” 

“Dude! You can’t take both.” Kyle groans with his hand over his abdomen and sits up as best as he can. 

The mugger clearly isn’t happy. Kyle brings his arms up to protect his face as the mugger runs forward and slashes the knife. Luckily, the Fall wardrobe provides enough coverage that it dampens the ferocity of the cut. Unluckily, it still hurts like shit when the blade slits open the skin on his hand. Seeing that the knife isn’t doing much, the mugger goes back to good ol’ fashion footwork and kicks Kyle in the chin. 

Kyle falls backward and hits his head against the pavement. The collision rattles his senses. He squeezes his eyes shut, hoping it’ll help with the aching pain. He can feel the mugger’s hands frantically searching his body. The next seconds, the sensation is gone. He hears a fist meeting a face and the mugger crying out in pain. With some effort, he pushes himself into a sitting position with his hand at his temple. 

The first thing he registers is the mugger crashing to the ground a couple feet next to him with a bloodied face. The second thing is that there is now a person in a dark hooded cape and a black mask over his eyes at the scene. This newcomer must be coming back from a frat’s costume party. Because there’s no way in hell people actually run around dressed up like a wannabe superhero and beat up bad guys in the middle of the night. This isn’t Netflix. 

The mugger gets back up and swipes the knife left and right. Even Kyle can see that the mugger isn’t used to using the knife for real. The masked man, on the other hand, carries himself with the aura of someone who’s been there, done that. He’s poise in his stand and doesn’t make any unnecessary movement. When the mugger lunges in a forward stab, the masked man easily maneuvers around him and karate chops the knife out of the mugger’s grip then grabs onto the arm and twists it behind the mugger’s back. 

“Agggh! Stop - stop, please! I give up. I’m sorry! I’m sorry. Please. I didn’t know what I was doing.” The mugger screeches out in pain as the masked man pushes him onto his knees and doesn’t stop pulling on his arm. “P-please…” 

“You’re going to break his arm.” Kyle’s back on his feet as well though his head is swimming from a rush of blood. He keeps a hand on his temple and presses the other over his stomach. He takes a cautious step toward the two men. “Let’s just call the cops. It’s over with.” 

The masked man kicks the mugger to the ground then picks up the pocket knife lying not too far away. For good or sadistic measure, he stabs the knife through the mugger’s hand. The chilling scream the mugger makes, Kyle doesn’t think he’ll ever forget it. 

“Dude!” Kyle throws his hand out to stop the masked man. “Seriously, that’s enough.” 

Ignoring the mugger’s cry or Kyle’s clear disgust at his cruelty, the masked man walks to where Kyle’s bag is haphazardly abandoned during the fight and picks it up. He holds it out to Kyle by the strap. It’s hard to make out any distinctive features with the low light, the hood, and the mask, but Kyle thinks the man’s blond. He’s definitely a little taller than Kyle is, but that isn’t going to help to figure the man’s identity. 

“Are you hurt?” The masked man asks in an obviously fake low, raspy voice. 

Kyle takes his bag back with a muttered thank-you and hopes his laptop comes out of his mess okay. His hand stings and his stomach aches with a sharp pain but he doesn’t have any life-threatening injury. “No, I - I’m fine - it’s not bad. I’ll sleep it off with some Advil. …Thank you for helping me.  Are _you_ okay? Did you get hurt?” 

The masked man gives a nonchalant shrug. He seems to be fine. “You took a serious beating. All that, for a laptop?” 

“I have something important on it, okay. I wasn’t going to let him take it. So, yes, all that for laptop.” Kyle puts his bag on and keeps his gaze on the masked man. The costume looks home-made down to the crotch guard that looks suspiciously like a pair of tighty-whities. “That's a nice costume… It’s a little early for Halloween though, isn’t it?” 

The masked man smirks and says in the cheesiest voice Kyle ever heard, “Justice doesn’t have a season. I’ll leave him to do as you wish.” He turns around, his cape flopping from the momentum. He stops next to the mugger and steps on the man’s wounded hand a little. ”If you run, I will find you and break both of your legs.” 

“H-Hey, wait-!” Kyle calls out even though he doesn’t really know what he wants to say if the man stays.

The masked man doesn’t listen anyway. He takes off, his cape swinging heroically behind his retreating figure, and vanishes out of sight. Kyle alternates looking at the darkness that swallowed his rescuer whole and the mugger writhing in pain next to his feet. Did he seriously, in this quiet redneck whitebread CU South Park, just get saved by a vigilante hero? Is this part of the grander plan in store for him or is God really just fucking with him?


	2. The Science of Stress

_This course provides an introduction to the concept of stress and the physiological systems involved on how much shit a person can take before they go The Shining all over your ass._

* * *

Kyle walks through the front door at a quarter past three. Most of the lights are off, except for Tweek and Butters’ room on the upper floor, which probably means that Tweek is having another all-nighter. He hopes the room-hopping landed Butters somewhere he can catch some rest. God knows he desperately wants the same for himself right now.

He could - he should probably take a shower to clean off the grime or at least wash his face but his whole being is screaming at him to stop moving and to go the fuck to sleep. As much as he knows the importance of common hygiene, he figures he’ll decide if he wants to make a pitch stop at the bathroom after he gets in his room and puts down his bag.

All the lights in his suite are turned off. Even night-owl Stan has called it a night. He presses the keycard to the door. A green light blinks on to grant him entrance. At least, that’s what the green light is supposed to mean. He pushes down on the handle but the door doesn't open. He stares at his door, dumbfounded by the barrier between him and sweet sleep. Did he demagnetized his card somehow? But the light is on so that means his card is working.

He tries again. The green light comes on. He pushes down the handle. The door remains locked. It takes his exhausted brain way too long to understand why the door won't open.

“Cartman, you fat fuck, let me in.” Even if he’s pissed off at Eric and drained to his bones, there’s no reason for him to wake the whole hall up, so he keeps his voice to a bare minimum and pounds only twice on the door. “Cartman!”

If there is an answer from the other side, he doesn’t hear it. He rattles the handle one more time like the door would’ve suddenly become unlocked. He pounds on the door again and hisses Eric’s name. His phone vibrates in his pocket. He knows it’s Eric before he even looks at it. Begrudgingly, he takes out his phone and sees that he does have a text from Eric.

_Gilmore Girls is a great show._

“Fucking asshole,” Kyle mutters. He doesn't have the energy to fight. As much he wants the comfort of his bed, he isn't going to go upstairs, wake up the RA, have the RA lecture him about being out past the arbitrary curfew, explain that he’s been mugged to the RA, have the RA find the mechanical key, and let him back in his room. Knowing Eric, Eric will have some bullshit in store why he locked the door in the first place that will make Kyle look like the bad guy.

Kyle glances over at Stan and Clyde’s room. A part of him secretly hopes that he made enough of a commotion to wake one of them up (Stan, hopefully) and they would come to his aid. But the lights stay off, and he stays locked out. He guesses he can’t count on getting rescued twice in a row. He walks back out to the lounge, not making that pitch stop at the bathroom, and puts down his bag against the couch. He can’t remember the last time he slept on a couch and is not looking forward to waking up with a sore neck. He lies down on his side with his arm as a pillow and has to pull his knees up a little so he can fit.

Luckily, sleep comes quickly to him. The last thing he thinks about is the tighty-whities of the masked man.

* * *

Kyle jerks awake when he feels someone putting a blanket over him. It takes a few seconds for his brain to boot up and remember why he isn't in his bed. Once he does, he makes a note that the first agenda of the day is to kick Eric Cartman’s ass. He sits up, his neck sore already, and blinks tiredly at Butters fidgeting in front of him.

“Aw hamburgers, I - I’m sorry, Kyle, I didn't mean to wake ya. I was worried you were gonna catch a cold so I brought you a blanket.”

“... Thanks, Butters. Don’t worry about it. That’s really kind of you. I appreciate it.” Kyle pulls up the blanket as a gesture of his appreciation even though he isn’t planning to sleep in anymore.

“Say, Kyle, are you al’right? You don't look too good.”

“Yeah, I had a bad night.”

“Aww, I'm sorry to hear that, buddy. You know what makes me feel better when I’m having a bad time? A hug! Clyde gives the best hugs. He makes you feel all okay again. You should ask him for one. Or I can give you one... I’m a pretty decent hugger myself.”

“I’m okay, thanks... I think I need a shower more than anything else right now,” Kyle says with a bemused smile.

“Oh, al’right. Why were you sleepin’ out here anyhoo? Did you forget your key? Why didn’t you ask Eric to let you in?”

“Because he’s the one who locked me out.” Kyle pushes off the blanket and swings his legs around. His abdomen hurts when he stands. He’s sure he’s going to find a nasty bruise when he hops in the shower.

“Huh? Now why would he do that? Did y’all get in a fight?”

“Because he’s an asshole, Butters. He doesn’t need reasons to do horrible things,” Kyle says, giving Butters a look. Granted, Butters is unnaturally naive for his age, but surely even he can see that Eric isn’t a good person. “Ah shit, I need to get the RA to let me in. What time is it?”

“Oh, um, it’s 7:30. You sure Eric did that? Maybe he didn’t know he locked the door. Sometimes we don’t realize what we’re doin’. Tweek tells me I scream in my sleep but I don’t remember none of it.”

“Probably because you were asleep? Trust me, this isn’t the same. Cartman knew what he was doing.” Kyle checks his phone for the time anyway and confirms that he has an hour and a half before his first class. Hopefully he can have that shower before then and maybe even breakfast. “What are you doing down here this early anyway?”

Butters turns around to the sink counter and picks up the cafeteria tray that was obscured by his frame earlier. It’s a plate of eggs and waffle iron hashbrowns along with a glass of orange juice. “Oh, I’m bringin’ Eric breakfast. He says the line’s too long and they always make him wait forever for his kosher food so I went wait in line for him. We’re supposed to have a super secret meetin’ too.”

Kyle doesn’t even know where to start. Butters bringing Eric breakfast? Eric actually eating kosher? A super secret meeting? His head hurts trying to wrap about all that new information and part of him wonders if he isn’t dreaming. “What’s the secret meeting about?”

“Oh, geesh, I'm not supposed to tell ya. Eric specially said don't tell anyone, Butters, especially not that stinking self-righteous busybody, Kyle. Uh, his words, not mine.”

Kyle nods. No surprise there. He can, he supposes, force it out of Butters but then he would sink to Eric’s level. Even if he wants to know, he isn’t ready to go that low. “Can you go wake Cartman up so I can get back in?”

“Sure thing, buddy! I bet he’s hungry right ‘bout now.”

Butters takes the lead with the food with Kyle trailing behind him and stifling a yawn. Butters balances the tray on one hand and knocks with the other.

“Raise and shine, Eric, it’s me. I got your breakfast and---” Butters glances at Kyle, who shakes his head. “Just me. Butters. Open up. Your food’s gettin’ cold.”

Heavy footfalls approach the door. With two clicks, the door opens and Eric, dressed for the day, greets them. Kyle doesn’t give anyone a chance to say anything before he purposely bumps into Eric to get through.

“Well, good morning to you too, Kahl. Did you sleep well?”

“Fuck you, fatass.” Kyle sets down his bag. It’s tempting to dive into bed for thirty minutes but he knows that isn’t going to happen with Eric and Butters present.

“Mornin’, Eric,” Butters says as he sets down the tray on Eric’s desk. “They didn’t have any pancakes today so I got ya hashbrowns instead. Hope that’s al’right.”

“God, Butters, can’t you do anything right? I specially said pancakes!”

“Aw, I’m sorry, Eric. I can go back and see if they’ll make you some.”

Kyle grabs a change of clothes then slams his drawers shut - a sound that makes both Eric and Butters stop talking. Butters grind his knuckles together nervously while Eric stares at him with a displeased face.

“Kahl, can you not? You’re scaring Butters,” Eric says.

Kyle walks up to Eric, his clothes bunched up against his chest. “If you pull that shit on me again, I’m going to kick your ass.”

“Then maybe you should try to make it back before curfew. I was only following the rules. Article 13B specifically says that all doors are to be locked after midnight for student’s safety. Do you not care about our safety, Kahl? Do you want a homeless creep to slit Butters’ throat in the middle of the night? Hmm, Kahl? Do you?”

“Oh hamburgers, I don’t want my throat slit,” Butters squeaks.

Kyle swallows the scream that’s building in him. He should know by now the only way to win against Eric Cartman is not to fight with him at all. He can’t be baited further and have Eric twisted his words anymore. Besides, he does feel awful for the way he’s behaving in front of Butters. So once again, he resigns and lets Eric get away with it.

He grabs his shower caddy out of his closet then stops in front of Butters. He tries on his best smile. “Thanks for the blanket, Butters.”

“O-Oh, you’re welcome, Kyle.”

Kyle steps out into the hall and slides the shower room door open.

“Close the door, will you, Butters?” Eric says. “And don’t ever bring me hashbrowns when I ask for pancakes again.”

“Y-yes, sir.”

The room door closes as Kyle locks the shower room behind him. He exhales through his nose and checks out his reflection in the mirror. Butters is right; he doesn’t look so good. Ignoring the bags under his eyes, there is a bruise rearing its face on his cheekbone. He doesn’t even remember getting kicked in the face. He takes off his shirt and gingerly touches the black and blue mess below his ribcage. The cut on his hand starts to sting when he looks at it.

“Fuck my life…”

* * *

Right now, Kyle regrets the decision to have back-to-back classes. Running on four hours of sleep is severely affecting his ability to function. He managed to survive his first two classes, but he still has one lecture and one discussion before he can call it a day. Taking a nap is out of the question since his next class is starting in ten minutes. He doesn’t even have time to stop at the store for a pick-me-up or he’ll be late. He hates being late, regardless if the professor takes attendance or not.

He stuffs the last of his things into his bag and hurries out the door. If he runs, he can probably spare a few minutes at the vending machine for a Red Bull. His plan, however, doesn’t come to fruition. The moment he’s outside the classroom, he’s stopped promptly by a student he doesn’t recognize.

“Kyle Broflovski? Hi, I'm Jimmy Valmer, from CU Muse. I understand you were in a mug-mmm-mugging last night. Can I please have a moment of your time?”

Kyle looks wearily at Jimmy. The mugging isn’t something he wants to talk about. Not to mention he doesn’t actually have the time for it either. “Uh, I already told the campus police everything. If you’re looking for more information, you should ask them.”

“We’ve already been in contact with the authority. It’s not the mugging that we’re in-in-interested in.” Jimmy moves in closer. His voice drops into a low whisper. “It’s the m-m-ma-man who saved you we’re curious about.”

Kyle tenses. A huge part of him still thinks that the masked man is just some weirdo in his underwear, but people actually know about him? People actually are looking for him? That kind of changes his perspective. “What about him?”

Jimmy glances left and right suspiciously. Kyle doesn’t know why Jimmy’s worried someone might be listening in but it makes him feel a lot more unease about the whole situation.

“Can we take this sss-som-somewhere more private?”

“Look, I’m sorry. This really isn’t a good time. I’m in a hurry.”

Kyle starts to walk away, but Jimmy steps around and blocks him. Jimmy reaches into his pocket and takes out a business card. Out of courtesy, Kyle takes it and gives it an once-over. Apparently, Jimmy is a junior editor for CUM.

“I w-wo-won’t take up too much of your time. Please call me when you’re available. You have no idea how important an eyewitness ac-aaa-account is to our on-going investigation.”

Kyle looks up from the business card at Jimmy. “That guy… who is he?”

“We in the business call him Myst-Mys-Mmm-Mys… Mm-M-M-Mysterion. He’s the h-he-hero this town deserves. I’ll look forward to h-hee-hearing from you.”

Jimmy moves at last and lets Kyle be on his way. Kyle looks down at the card again as he heads for his next class. If he’s being honest, he’s curious to know more about the masked man too.

* * *

The dining hall is buzzing with hungry students. Kyle is nested at a table by himself near the back to eat quietly with his copy of Norwegian Wood. He absent-mindedly shovels some watered down mashed potato in his mouth. He flips the page with one hand and holds the spoon in his mouth so he can jot down some notes on his notebook.

He sucks the remnant of mashed potato off his spoon, briefly thinking he should’ve gone with pizza instead, and sticks the spoon in the potato mount. He sips his water just as a blond student approaches him with a tray.

“‘allo, pardon me,” the blond says with a noticeable English accent. “Are these seats taken?”

Kyle thinks he recognizes the student in one of his lectures but a name isn’t coming to him off the top of his head. Behind the blond, three other students are heading this way. He assumes they’re all together. He glances at his half-eaten dinner then starts packing his stuff. The table seats six and he’s taking up all of it. That doesn’t seem right.

“You can have the table,” he says as he picks up his tray with his school books tucked under his armpit.

“Oh! Are you sure? We don’t mind sharing.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m done anyway. Enjoy your meal.”

The blond thanks him then waves for the other three to come sit down. Kyle drops off the tray then snakes his way toward the exit. He spots some of the guys from his hall, including Eric and Stan, all eating together and looking like they’re having a blast. If he says that doesn’t make him feel a little left out, he’s lying. He tries not to dwell on it though. The upside is that if they’re all here, he can have some peace and quiet to himself for a while.

He walks through the entryway of his building. As expected with the most of the guys gone, it’s pretty quiet in here. He sees Tweek pokes his head out from upstairs, makes a strangled noise, then retreats out of sight. At least there’s someone else with him who didn’t get invited to dinner. He lets out a sigh of relief when he’s able to get into his room without any trouble. What does that say about his life if he’s happy he didn’t get locked out?

He flips on the lights and damn nearly screams when he sees that someone is in his room. The novel and his notebook drop to the ground with an unceremonious thud. It’s not Eric, obviously. It’s not a burglar or a homeless creep coming to slit his throat either. Nope. Standing in the middle of his room waiting for him is the guy Jimmy dubbed Mysterion.

Mysterion gives him a stern look and says, “We need to talk.”


	3. Power and Responsibility

_This course unravels the make-believe correlation between power, responsibility, and undergarments and invites students to explore their own superhero origin story._

* * *

Kyle can't even begin to process what is happening. How did Mysterion get into his room? Aren't there cameras? Did he come in his civilian clothes then put on his costume here? Does he even have a civilian identity or is he like this 24/7? What exactly does he need to talk about? None of the questions crowding his head gets asked before Mysterion speaks up and gets straight to the point.

"You can't talk to the school paper about me.”

“How did you know about that?” Kyle raises his brow. Granted, his conversation with Jimmy didn't take place in a secret abandoned warehouse but the thought that Mysterion somehow knows is making him a bit paranoid. 

Mysterion blows past Kyle’s question and stresses on. “I can’t have you drawing attention on me.” 

“I think you kind of did that when you put your underwear on the outside,” Kyle says. “What do you have to hide?” 

“Asides from the obvious? The less eyes there are on me, the easier it is for me to do what I need to do.” 

“What is it you think you _need_ to do?” 

“... I need to help.” The guilt is evident in Mysterion’s voice. 

“Most people just give money to charity or feed the homeless,” Kyle lists off. “They don't try to be a superhero.” 

“I'm not a superhero.” 

“Jimmy Valmer seems to think so. He says you’re the hero this town deserves.” 

Mysterion scoffs with a disgruntled headshake. “And you? What do you think?” 

Kyle breathes out of his mouth. He crosses his arms over his chest, his eyes on the corner of his room, as he puts his thoughts together. He exhales again before he speaks with an honest gaze on Mysterion. 

“I think you're taking role-playing too seriously. I don't know what’s your motivation. Maybe you helped someone one day and got hooked on it. Maybe you read too many comic books. Whatever it is that drives you to do this, I think you're doing something dangerous, and quite frankly, questionable.” 

“Questionable?” Mysterion cocks his head to the side. Even with the mask, Kyle can see him frowning. “If you can do what I can but you don't do anything with it, when something bad happens, when people get hurt, that's on you.” 

“Okay, slow your roll, Spider-Man. Look, don't get me wrong. Whether I agree with what you're doing or not isn't going to change how much I appreciate your help last night. I'm telling you what I think is true. This---” Kyle gestures at Mysterion’s get-up. “---is not something you _have_ to take on. What you do comes with consequences. Honestly, I'm afraid you're the one who's going to end up hurt.” 

“And what do you propose instead? Stand aside and do nothing?” Mysterion stalks forward. His figure is menacing even though he's only a bit taller but not bigger than Kyle. “I’m willing to get hurt if it means someone else will be safe. That is a sacrifice I’m happy to make. Can you understand that?”

Kyle barely registers that he’s having this conversation like Mysterion is actually a real-life superhero and not just some guy in over his head. “Yes, I can understand that. It sounds like you’re really set on this being what you want, so I hope you know the price it comes with and be ready for it. What you take in your hands can be ruined by them the same.” 

“You don't have to worry. I know what I’m doing.” Mysterion turns away and faces the window. He undoes the latch and opens it wide. “I took a risk coming here tonight. I hope you won't make me regret it.” 

“Hey, wait.” This time Kyle does know what he wants to say when Mysterion lingers. “... Be careful.” 

Mysterion nods then hops through the window with a grace that Kyle quietly admires. The evening air fills up the space and settles in nicely with the stillness. In the distance, he can hear the guys coming back from dinner. He leans out the window and scans the darkness that swallowed Mysterion whole. He steps back when it’s apparent that Mysterion vanished without yet another trace. He locks the window and stares at his empty room. A heaviness anchors in his chest. He really hopes that guy knows what the fuck he’s doing.

* * *

“You know you’ve been stirring your coffee for, like, five minutes now.” 

Kyle snaps out of his thoughts and turns to see Stan coming toward him. He has no clue if Stan’s exaggerating or not, or if he’s really been standing here like a statue with last night’s event playing in his head on repeat. Regardless, he feels a flush at the base of his neck and dumps the spoon in the sink to signal that he completed his stirring. 

“You feeling okay?” Stan asks as he picks up the coffee pot and pours some into his Save the Whales travel mug. “Usually when you zone out, you have your books and a whole bunch of highlighters out.” 

“No, yeah, I’m fine. Still trying to wake up.” 

Stan puts down the pot. It takes two tries to get it back on the warmer since his eyes are set on Kyle. “Dude, what happened to your face?” 

Kyle instinctively touches the bruise on his cheekbone. He checked it in the morning and it isn’t too bad, but he guesses it’s still pretty noticeable. He hasn’t talked to anyone about the mugging and hasn’t changed his mind on not wanting to share it either. 

“I fell out of bed,” Kyle lies, mentally cringing at how lame that sounds. 

“And that?” Stan points to the visible cut on Kyle’s hand. 

“I…cut myself shaving.” 

“Where? Your knuckles?" 

“Yes, I have very hairy knuckles, Stan. It runs in the family. I’m doing the best I can, okay?” 

Stan snorts a laugh. His lingering frown, however, says he doesn’t buy it. He shakes a packet of Stevia and sprinkles it into his coffee. “Maybe you can try waxing next time.” 

“Have you ever tried waxing? It hurts like hell.” 

“Nah, I like my knuckles hairy and natural,” Stan says without missing a beat. 

Kyle’s laugh is cut short by Eric interrupting. “‘ey, Kahl, you better not drink all the coffee!” 

“I’ll have a special cup put asides just for you, fatass,” Kyle shouts back. 

Eric flips off Kyle then disappears into the bathroom. Kyle returns the gesture. Stan is stirring his coffee more than necessary. Kyle can feel Stan’s gaze honed in on him. Awkwardly, he turns away and turns on the water to rinse his spoon. 

“It's not Cartman, right?” Stan asks in a low whisper that’s still audible through the running water. 

“Huh?” 

“I mean…” Stan glances toward the bathroom then back at Kyle. “I know you two aren’t exactly best friends but he’s not----” 

“Oh… Dude, no.” Kyle turns off the facet and shakes his head adamantly. “He's a freaking asshole but he’s not… _beating_ me up. He’d probably run out of breath before he even throws a punch.” 

Stan wears that frown again but musters up a smile. Kyle puts forth a bigger smile in return. To think Stan is actually worried he's getting bullied by Eric! That is probably the sweetest thing that's happened to him in the past few days. On the other hand, he also doesn’t really like the idea that Stan thinks he’s fragile enough to be beaten up by Eric. 

“All right, just making sure,” Stan says. “If he ever tries anything, I got your back.” 

“Thanks, man.” A grin rapidly takes over Kyle’s face. “Between the two of us, I'm sure we can take the fatass down.” 

Stan matches Kyle’s grin and screws on the lid of his mug. “I gotta run. Got class in fifteen. I’ll catch you later. Hey, don’t forget that special cup for Cartman.” 

“I would never.” Kyle flashes a mischievous smirk then sees Stan off. He sips his coffee in the quiet with his mind inevitably drifting back to Mysterion.

* * *

With the week he’s had, Kyle is so ready for the weekend. But first, he has to get through a 110 minutes lecture on philosophy before the week’s over. Not that he doesn’t enjoy the course subject, he’s just really tired. He takes his seat near the front of the lecture hall as usual and settles in as students gradually fill up the rest of the space. He has his laptop out and leans back into the seat, while the professor puts up today’s PowerPoint on the screen. 

A tap on his shoulder stops his chance to get a head start on taking down the lecture notes. He turns and looks up at the row above him. He would recognize that orange parka anywhere, even if he doesn’t know the person wearing it. 

“Hi, do you have a pen I can borrow?” 

“Oh… Um…” Kyle blinks, like the guy spoke in a foreign language, and takes a moment to comprehend the question. He fishes out a spare pen from his bag and hands it over. 

“You’re a lifesaver! Thanks, man,” the guy says with a grin brighter than the occasion calls for. He leans back into his own seat and scribbles down something on his frayed notebook. He is, as far as Kyle can tell, the only one here who doesn’t have a laptop or a tablet. 

Kyle doesn’t think he’s ever seen the guy in class before either. Then again, it’s not like he keeps an active eye on the roster or that the guy would wear the same parka every class even if it looks worn beyond fashionable taste. In the end though, there is no real reason for him to dwell on the his pen borrower. He saw him in the library before he was mugged; there’s hardly any connection to be had. 

Kyle’s clicking open a new doc when his seat wobbles back slightly at the weight leaning onto his row. 

“I’m Kenny, by the way,” the guy says, holding out his hand. 

“Uh, Kyle.” Kyle reaches up in the awkward angle and shakes Kenny’s hand. “Hi.” 

“You look kinda familiar.” Kenny plants his fist next to his temple with his elbow dug into the seat for support. “Did we make out at Kappa Tau’s party last week?”

Kyle blinks again with the same dumbfound look. “What? No, we did not.” 

“Yeah, you’re right... I would’ve remembered you if we did,” Kenny says in a voice that makes Kyle feel partly embarrassed and partly inappropriately flattered. 

“You’re thinking about someone else,” Kyle blabs out. 

“You’re the only one I’m thinking about right now. Anyways...” Kenny leans back into his seat and wiggles the borrowed pen. “Thanks for the pen again. I’ll give it back at the end of class.” 

Kyle turns back to face forward and hopes his cheeks aren’t betraying him. He can’t decide how he should feel over Kenny’s comment. It’s not every day that someone would say those kinds of words to him, but that’s also what makes it so unnerving and out of place. He thinks he can feel Kenny’s gaze on him. It must be his imagination, however. He derails the train that’s going nowhere and brings his focus to the PowerPoint up on the lecture screen.

105 minutes down to go.

* * *

“What is that ruckus, Kyle? Is it always this loud? How can you study like this?” 

“It’s Friday night, Mom. This is pretty normal,” Kyle answers after a glance at the door that isn’t blocking out enough of the noise. He has to agree with his mom that it is exceptionally rowdy out in the hall tonight. “It’s not this noisy every day.” 

“Well, I would hope not,” Sheila says. Her sternness is apparent even through the Facetime video. “Maybe you can go to the library or somewhere with people who have a little more respect and common courtesy.” 

Kyle thinks _been there, got mugged_ , but he nods obediently at Sheila’s suggestion nonetheless. “If it gets too bad, I will.” 

“You be sure to do that, you hear me? I don’t want you falling behind on your schoolwork for any reason. You’re a good boy, Kyle. You make us so proud. Oh, your father and I miss you so much.” 

“Thanks, Mom… I miss you guys too. Tell Dad and Ike I said hi.” 

Out in the hall, someone shouts something vaguely like “Don’t fucking fart on my comb, you asshole.” 

“I will. Ike’s doing very well in school, you know,” Sheila says over the noise. “At this rate, he’ll be valedictorian just like you.” 

“I need someone to Google if it’s safe to put Gold Bond on your balls,” someone else calls out. 

Kyle shoots a side glance at the door then says, “He’s only a high school freshman, Mom. Maybe you’re putting too much pressure on him.” 

“Nonsense, your brother’s very smart, just like you. We all expect great things from him.” 

“I know, I’m just saying he’s still a kid. He should get to have some fun.” 

“Dude, did you use my deodorant on your ass?” A third voice sounds out. 

“Oh goodness gracious, I’m getting a headache from all the noise!” Sheila puts her palm against her forehead and shakes her head gravely. “You should tell those boys to quiet down. Someone should call their mothers!” 

“Mom, we aren’t in fourth grade,” Kyle groans. “You don’t need to call anyone’s parents.”

“Those boys have no manner. And such a potty mouth! I hope you aren’t picking up any bad behaviors from them.” 

“I’m not.” Kyle shrugs. “I don’t really even talk to them.” 

“Good. Alright, I can’t take a moment more. We’ll talk in the morning, Kyle. Do your homework, but don't stay up too late. Rest is very important for a young man your age. And have the staff look into fixing your frame so you don’t fall out of bed again. I love you, bubbale.” 

Kyle simply smiles and waves while Sheila blows him a kiss. “I will. Love you too, Mom. Good night.” 

Once he closes out of the video chat, Kyle steps into the hall to see what exactly is happening out there. Clyde and a couple of the guys are crowding the bathrooms. All of them are busy getting ready like they're going to prom. 

“What’s going on?” Kyle asks when he sees Stan leaning against the wall outside the left bathroom. Stan is the only one not preening like a horny peacock. 

“They’re all going to a rush party,” Stan says and sips his beer that he’s definitely not legal to drink. 

“Is that a beer?” 

“Yeah, want one?” Stan pushes off from the wall but Kyle stops him with a headshake. 

“Whose party?” Kyle asks again as he watches Clyde fights with a baby hair then plugs it out all together. 

“Phi Omicron Omega,” Stan says while no one else seem to notice him. “Clyde’s a legacy so he got invited. He’s a shoo-in for a bid.” 

“If you douchebags don't fuck it up for me,” Clyde grumbles, pulling another baby hair out. 

“As I recall, you wanted us to come with you because you're too scared to go alone,” Token snips back as he fixes the collar of his shirt. 

“Do you want to get uninvited?” Clyde shoots Token a nasty glance. 

“Fine by me.” Token steps out of the bathroom and Kevin slips in to take the spot. “Phi O2 sucks anyway. They have the lowest GPA on campus, the highest amount of hazing reports, and their philanthropy makes no sense.” 

“Who gives a shit about that?” Eric leans out of the other bathroom. “Phi O2 is the hottest fraternity on campus. You don’t wanna be in with the most popular guys in school? Be our guest, Token. They probably won’t want your kind anyway.” 

“Yeah, more chicks for the rest of us,” Clyde chimes in. 

“My kind? Man, what the fuck. Fuck both of you.” Token storms down the hall but sits down at the couch instead of leaving for real. 

“I think I lost half my brain cells listening to this conversation,” Kyle says. 

“Uh, excuse me, Kahl.” Eric steps out further into the hall. “What are you doing here? Clyde, did you invite Kahl to the party?” 

Everyone present knows the answer so no one bothers to acknowledge or respond to the question. Kyle presses his lips into a line and huffs out of his nose. Great, curiosity led him right into a trap. 

“Clyde? No? You didn’t? Kevin, did you? No? What about you, Jason? Also no... hmm... interesting.” Eric pinches his chin as if he’s in deep thought. “It looks like no one invited you… yet here you are… What could that mean, I wonder? Hmmmm...” 

“Cartman, cut it out,” Stan says with an eyeroll. 

“Oh, Kahl, did you - did you want to come with us? I guess we can let you take Stan’s place. Guys, what do you think? Can we take Kahl? I know he’s super lame and stuff, but he _is_ my roommate. I feel so bad leaving him behind.” 

“I don't want to join a frat,” Kyle points out with his arms over his chest. 

“I guess it wouldn’t be the end of the world if we take him with us…” Eric goes on like he hasn’t heard Kyle. “Oh… I don’t know… He’s just so lame though. He’ll make the rest of us look terrible.” 

“Like any frat would want a fat tub of lard like you.” Kyle scoffs. Someone in the bathroom snickers. 

“What to do, what to do…” Eric scratches his chin. “How about… raise your hand if you want Kyle to come with us.” 

Clyde is gelling his hair. Kevin is pulling a loose thread from his sweater. Jason is contemplating if he wants his sleeves rolled up or down. Token, sitting at the couch down in the lounge, is staring at his phone. If any of them heard Eric’s question, none of them is responding. That in itself gives Kyle a clearer answer than anything else. 

“Hmm, I don’t see any hand...” Eric looks left and right. 

“Aren’t you guys gonna be late?” Stan says louder than necessary. “There aren’t gonna be any chicks left for you losers.” 

Kyle appreciates Stan jumping in, but the truth is already revealed. He casts his gaze off to the side while the guys put on their finishing touches. He knows he isn’t the most sociable person in the building, but he has never, up until now, thought that other guys didn’t like him. He has never, up until now, thought that he wasn't a likable person. 

“Hey fellas, you sure about this outfit... ? I’m feelin’ kinda overdressed.” Butters walks in wearing a leather vest without a shirt and matching leather chaps. “No one else is wearin’ leather…and it’s freezin’... Can I change?” 

Kyle's the only one who groans, while the others are on a spectrum of outrageous laughter and subtle snickers. 

“You can't make him wear that,” Kyle says with a hard gaze on Eric in particular. “He’s going to freeze to death.” 

Eric ignores Kyle’s comment and scolds Butters instead. “We don’t have time for you to change. Do you want to make us late and have the Phi O2 brothers spit in our mouth? That’s what they do to people who’re late.” 

“Aww, hamburgers… I don’t want that...” Butters rubs his hands up and down his exposed arms.  “... I guess I can manage…” 

“Nice cheeks,” Craig says as he comes in behind Butters. “Can you guys hurry the fuck up?” 

“Why is he rushing us,” Jason mutters to Kevin as they walk out of the bathroom together. “He’s not even into girls.” 

“The only logical explanation must be that Craig likes to party,” Kevin replies. 

“Let’s go before Butters pokes someone's eyes out with his nipples,” Token calls out. 

“I thought you didn’t want to come anymore.” Clyde is the last one out of the bathroom, bypassing Kyle without even giving him a glance. 

“I didn’t spend two hours on this masterpiece and not have people see it.” Token points at himself as he stands up. 

“Is Stan not coming?” Craig asks no one in particular. 

“Stan’s a PC Delta legacy. They’re Phi O2’s sworn enemy,” Clyde explains, to which Stan nods. 

“Where is Scott meeting us?” Jason asks. 

“Scott can’t come. He has diabetes,” Eric says. 

“Oh, is Bradley still going?” Butters sneezes and hugs himself closer. 

“Which Bradley?” Kevin asks back. 

One by one, the guys file out of the building, leaving only Stan and Kyle behind for different reasons. The silence that fills the space is violent. Stan and Kyle linger without a word to each other. Stan shakes his half-finished beer. Then slowly, Kyle edges back toward his room. 

“Hey, wait.” Stan reaches out and stops Kyle with a hesitant touch. “It’s not what you think. The guys just---” 

“You don’t have to explain. If they don’t like me, that’s fine. It’s not a big deal,” Kyle says but can’t convince himself the same. 

“They _don’t_ don’t like you. They just don’t _know_ you. I mean, you never want to hang out or anything. You’re always in your room and you never sit with us at dinner. Everything they know about you is through Cartman’s mouth.” 

“Oh perfect. He has the best things to say about me,” Kyle mumbles. 

“The guys know Cartman is full of shit, but they don’t have anything to compare. They just need to get to know you better. I mean, they kinda think you’re… kinda…” 

“Kind of what?” 

“... Uh, stuck-up? But again, it’s just ‘cause they don’t know you. So, I mean, just come kick it with us one day. Play some CoD. Seriously, they’ll forget everything Cartman says about you.” 

Kyle rubs his arm even though he isn’t feeling cold like Butters was. “... Do you think I’m stuck-up?” 

“No way, man, I think you’re cool,” Stan says with a bold step forward that makes Kyle lower his gaze. “But I wouldn’t mind getting to know you better.” 

Kyle swallows the sudden dryness building up in his throat. When he finally gets the guts to look up and meets Stan’s eyes, he feels like he’ll melt through the floor under that soft, gentle gaze. 

“... How do you want to do that?” Kyle fumbles out. 

“Uhhh…” Stan takes a step back shyly. “What were you gonna do tonight? We can hang out? Watch something mindless on Netflix?” 

Kyle’s original plan was to get a jumpstart on next week’s English readings. A movie with Stan sounds so much better in comparison. He nods with a smile he’s not doing a very good job hiding. Stan backs up again then walks backward toward the lounge. 

“All right, awesome. Uh, I’ll grab the snacks. You pick the movie. Meet you back here in 5.” 

“That sounds like a plan.” Kyle watches Stan disappear upstairs and sighs loudly with bliss as he goes back to grab his laptop. This is exactly what he needed to end his week with.


	4. Small Group Communication

_In this course, students study the practice of effective communication in small groups with emphasis on how to make everyone shut the fuck up and listen._

* * *

“Keeny, I love you… y’re my best friend,” is the sound Kyle wakes up to at almost 3 in the morning when his hallmates come back from the party. He sits up in bed, his mood sour by the chaos outside. Not that staying up til 1 with Stan is something he regrets, but can’t a guy get some decent rest around here?

"Aww, thanks, man, but that doesn’t mean you can grope my ass,” replies a terribly familiar voice that slaps Kyle awake like a kick to his nuts. “Where’s your key - Okay then...”

Kyle pokes his head out with Stan doing the same a moment later down the hall. Craig and Token are doing their best to carry a clearly drunk and possibly unconscious Clyde to his room. Stan comes forward to help while Kyle edges toward the lounge to scout out the rest of the noise. 

There’s a saying that the more you look for something, the more you tend to find it. Kyle doesn’t think he’s actively looking for the orange parka, but yet, look, there it is. He found it again. 

Or maybe, humor him, it found him. 

Kenny, with Butters’ help, lifts Eric’s legs up onto the couch, where Eric has collapsed and doesn’t look like he’ll budge. The combined strength of Butters and Kenny won’t be able to move Eric anyway so the best choice seems to be just leave him there for the night to sober up. 

“... love you so much,” Eric slurs with both his eyes and his mind shut. 

“Is he always like this?” Kenny chuckles with his hands charged on his hips. 

“Nah, I think he just really likes ya,” Butters teases as he strokes Eric’s back. “There, there, buddy, you just sleep it off. You’ll be good as new in the mornin’. Say, Kenny, should we get him some water?” 

“Don’t worry, I got it. I’ll stay to keep an eye on him.” 

“You sure? I don’t mind givin’’ ya a hand,” Butters offers. 

“Yeah, man, you done enough. Catch some sleep. I got him.” 

If he moves quickly and quietly, Kyle can slip back in his room and pretend he didn’t get woken up by the commotion. Behind him, he hears the muffled discussion between Craig, Token, and Stan on what to do with Clyde. Maybe he can help them instead. Anything to avoid getting noticed by Butters and Kenny. He makes up his mind too late though, since Butters spots him trying to sneak off before he actually even makes the motion. 

“Oh hey, Kyle, aww geez, did we wake ya? I’m awful sorry.” 

Kyle’s eyes are on Butters, but he can see Kenny in his peripheral vision. He wonders if he can pull off pretending to be sleepwalking, but that’s too much effort to avoid someone he doesn't have solid reasons to avoid. “It’s fine. You guys are back late. How was the party?” 

“It was a blast! They have a hot tub. Inside the house! There were so many people and they even had a DJ playin’ and all. You missed out. It was the best party ever.!” Butters beams excitedly. He gesture to Kenny next to him. “Oh, this here is Kenny. We met him at the party. Kenny, this is Kyle. He's a buddy of ours.” 

“We’ve met.” Kenny’s crooked smile is more foreboding than it should be. 

Kyle diverts his attention on Eric. He wishes he had his phone on him so he can Instagram Eric’s drooling face. For posterity’s sake, of course. “Is he going to live?” 

“He didn’t have that much. He’s just a lightweight,” Kenny says. He puts his arm around Butters and gives him a proud squeeze. “Butters drank him right under the table. It was a slaughter.” 

“That's right! I’m the Blow Jobs champion,” Butters says with a puffed chest. 

“You have got to stop saying that.” Token comes back into the lounge with Craig behind him. 

“Why? What’s wrong with it?” Butters grinds his knuckles and looks up to Kenny for help. “Am I not the champion?” 

“I will explain.” Token extracts Butters from Kenny and ushers Butters out. “Craig, are you staying in Tweek’s room?” 

Craig nods. He gives Kenny a fist bump then follows Token and Butters upstairs. 

“Good night, fellas!” is the last thing said before silence takes over. With Stan occupied with Clyde and Eric passed out on the couch, it leaves Kyle alone to entertain the unexpected guest in their suite. 

“Uh, you should go home. I’ll keep an eye on him,” Kyle says not deliberately like he’s trying to get rid of Kenny. “You don't have to stay.” 

“It’s cool. You got Clyde on your hands. I can help you out.” 

“No, Stan has Clyde. Cartman’s my roommate so I guess I have to be responsible for him.” 

“Oooooh, so you’re that _Kahl_ . He would not stop talking about you the whole party,” Kenny says. “It was non-stop _Kahl_ this, _Kahl_ that. It’s kinda cute how much you’re on his mind.” 

Kyle cringes and shudders with disgust. The sheer thought brings bile to his throat. “Ugh, don’t ever say that again.” 

Kenny laughs, his eyes twinkling. “He’s something wild. A psych major would have a field day on him.” 

“I think he would drive them nuts before they can get anything out of him.” 

“Yeah, no doubt. I like him better like this.” Kenny looks back at Eric with a coy smile. “He’s cuddly and harmless.” 

“Cuddly and harmless?” Kyle scoffs bemusingly. “Those are two words I would never associate with Eric Cartman.” 

“He’s not so bad, right? I mean, I only knew him for all of, five... six hours so I can’t be a good judge.” 

“He’s a selfish racist asshole who rips on everyone and tells people that he’s Jewish even though he’s not.” 

“Woah, what’s up with that?” Kenny tilts his head with a frown. 

“Yeah! I know! I put on my roommate preference I wouldn’t mind having a roommate with the same faith and voila, I get Eric fucking Cartman. 10,000 undergraduates and he’s the only other ‘Jewish’ student on campus? Give me a break.” 

Kenny looks at Kyle pointedly. “ That sucks, man, but now I’m kinda worried you’re gonna smother him with a cushion when I’m gone.” 

Kyle looks past Kenny at Eric. Between taking care of Eric and having Kenny stayed in the lounge, he supposes the Kenny choice is the lesser of two evils. It’s not like Eric will ever thank him for anything and he still doesn’t have a concrete reason to be wary of Kenny other than the coincidence of their encounter. It’s a relatively small university; it can’t be that weird to run into people repeatedly. 

“He’s not worth going to jail for.” Kyle walks to the mini fridge and takes out two bottled waters. He hands one to Kenny and sets the other down on the table. 

Kenny smiles as he twists the cap off his bottle. “The trick is to make it look like an accident.” 

Kyle chuckles then heads back toward his room. “Well, if he chokes on his vomit, please do not resuscitate.” 

Kenny salutes Kyle playfully then settles into the armchair. “Good night, Kyle.”

* * *

Kyle beelines toward the back of the dining hall. His eyes set on an empty table by the window to enjoy his Saturday brunch. That is the plan until an enthusiastic blond student starts flagging him down. It takes a moment for him to realize it’s the English student he gave his table up for the other night. Hesitantly, he approaches the table, where the English student has stood up to greet him. His other three companions, on the other hand, merely look at him with different levels of interest. 

“How do you do? Thank you so much again for offering us your table. We appreciate it very much,” the English student says with a grateful smile. 

“You’re welcome. It wasn’t a big deal.” 

“Oh, where are my manners? I’m Phillip Pirrup, but everyone calls me Pip. So pleased to meet you.” 

“Kyle Broflovski. It’s nice to meet you.” Kyle balances his tray on one hand and shakes Pip’s extended hand. He lowers his gaze to the others at the table and keeps a cordial smile. “All of you.” 

“Were you meeting someone? Would you care to join us?” Pip points eagerly at the empty seat across from him. “We would love to have you!” 

Kyle could, he supposes, decline and eat alone like he always does. His gaze wavers to the guys eating together at the other end of the hall. He can’t deny how lonely and outcast he feels. Pip seems like a perfectly nice person even if his companions aren’t exuding the same friendliness. What harm can possibly come to him from having brunch with these people? With a nod too eager, he takes the empty seat and notes the four have finished most of their meal already. While he settles in, Pip makes quick introduction of everyone present. 

Gregory’s glance is as condescending as his tone. “Charmed, I’m sure.” 

Christophe doesn’t give a verbal reply. He simply places tired eyes on Kyle. The stench of smoke pervades his every pore. 

Lastly, Damien doesn’t even look at him. His attention is solely focused on Pip. A hungry wolf desperately stalks its prey. 

“Are you all international students?” Kyle pokes his fork into his scrambled eggs. It's an obvious question, but it’s as good as a conversation starter as any. 

“Right you are. I’m from Kent. Gregory is from London. Christophe is French, and Damien is from Detroit,” Pip answers as the only person who’s engaged with Kyle’s presence. 

Kyle has half a mind to ask how exactly does being from Detroit makes Damien an international student but holds his tongue. He goes, instead, with a safer statement. “That’s really cool. I’d love to visit those places some day.” 

“Oh, you should. I’m sure you’ll have a lovely time.” Pip’s sweetness softens any guard Kyle once carried. 

“Yes, it can’t hurt to have yourself cultured,” Gregory chimes in. His gaze hasn’t lost its snootiness. “God knows how uncivilized this uni can be.” 

“I’m sorry?” Kyle cocks a brow. Two minutes in and he can’t stand Gregory already. 

“We were discussing campus safety before you interrupted,” Gregory says. “The school year has barely begun and there have already been numerous muggings. Not to mention the burglary, vandalism, harassment, and car theft. It’s atrocious.” 

“It’s terrible... At least the masked man is helping,” Pip says with a hint of hope. 

The scrambled eggs fall onto the plate when Kyle stops eating in mid-motion. He lowers his fork and stares at Pip. “... Masked man?” 

“Oh, have you not heard of him?” 

“Phillip, please.” Gregory cuts in. “You can’t possibly believe that. Thomas is daft.” 

“Thomas has no reason to lie.” Pip turns to Kyle, while Gregory looks on with contempt. “My friend was mugged in the car park last week, but a man in a mask and a cape saved him. It was so heroic. He sent the thief away with a good beating. They say, there are others who were helped by him as well.” 

“It’s all rubbish.” Gregory scoffs. “It’s someone’s fancy gone out of control.” 

Pip looks back at Gregory. “It can’t be a fancy if so many people attest to his existence.” 

Gregory sighs. “I’ll humour you. Suppose our costumed crimefighter is real, should we hail him as a hero and not a mad man?” 

“Dude’s kicking ass. Who gives a shit if he does it in a costume or lingeries?” Damien’s voice is higher than Kyle expected. “You’re just pissed he’s out there and you’re dragging 13-years-old on Twitter.” 

“Crass as always, Damien.” Gregory shifts his attention on Kyle. “Kyle, was it? What do you think?” 

Four pairs of eyes await him to pick a side. Kyle doesn’t actually need as long as he’s taking to come up with his answer. His talk with Mysterion and the revelation of the persistent crimes haven’t changed his stand. 

“I agree with Gregory. There is no accountability with vigilantism. Who gives him the right to do what he does and call it justice? How is he to decide the appropriate punishment for a crime? He can’t be judge, jury, and executioner. No matter where his motive comes from.” 

Gregory looks on smugly. “I must say I’m surprised. I thought you Americans are only concerned with your Tinder and your Red Sox. You’re not as uncouth as I expected.” 

“And you talk a lot less about Doctor Who than I expected so I guess we both learned something about our prejudice today.” Kyle doesn’t need to see Gregory’s reaction; Damien’s chortle says it all. “Look, I’m not saying his heart isn’t in the right place, but extrajudicial actions are dangerous like the crimes they’re penalizing. There is a right way to help, and I think he’s doing it the wrong way.” 

“That doesn’t make him a bad person.” Pip almost looks like he’s about to pout. 

“I’m not saying he is,” Kyle clarifies. “What I’m saying is he’s walking a tightrope… Who know when he’ll fall over and what will happen then?” 

“You talk like you know him.” Christophe’s accent accentuates the dangerous look he wears. 

Kyle manages to return Christophe’s look without cowering under its intensity and steadies his voice. “What makes you think that? I’m just saying... in general. From what I understand, it’s not something I can get behind.” 

“Ah, my dear Christophe, so rare of you to speak up.” Gregory cuts in, an amused smile dangling on his lips. “Would you care to share your thoughts?” 

“He sounds like a badass.” Christophe releases Kyle from his scrutiny and smirks. “I want to fight him.” 

Gregory rolls his eyes. “Good God, can’t we have one conversation without you wanting to bash someone’s head in?” 

“Ask your pathetic God for a new friend.” Christophe stands up. His tray is untouched with only the coffee drank. He shakes out a cigarette then opens his box of matches to find it empty. Putting the unlit smoke in his mouth, he nods to Damien. “Sheetlord, come, I need a light.” 

Damien reluctantly pries his eyes off Pip, who’s still oblivious to the excessive attention, and stands up as well. “What happened to the lighter I got you?” 

“Long story,” Christophe mutters with the smoke between his lips then takes the lead out of the dining hall with Damien trailing behind. 

Gregory checks his watch then dabs his mouth with the napkin while Pip sips his tea. Kyle has barely touched his brunch but his appetite is stripped away by the remnant of Christophe's gaze on him. 

Pip sets down his mug and says, “Thomas could’ve been hurt if it weren’t for him.” 

“Phillip, drop the matter, will you? We’ve wasted enough time on this nonsense. If you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting with Wendyl I must attend, where we’ll discuss actual measures to keep our fellow students safe.” Gregory stands up with his tray and nods to Kyle. “It was a pleasure, Kyle. Cheers.” 

Once Gregory’s out of earshot, Pip leans forward apologetically. “I’m terribly sorry. Brunch is normally less intense. I think we’re a bit unsettled, is all.” 

“It’s okay. I get it. I’d be worried too if my friends were mugged. Hey, Pip, uh…” Kyle pushes around the eggs on his plate, giving himself time to decide if he really wants to go through with what he wants to ask. 

“Yes, Kyle?” Pip chirps, looking on expectantly. 

“You said there are other people who saw the masked guy…” Kyle pauses and waits for Pip’s confirmation. “... Do you know who they are?” 

Pip subtly but visibly pulls back. “No... no, I’m afraid not. It’s all through the grapevine. Why do you ask?” 

“No reason,” Kyle says too quickly. He shakes it off with a smile. “Just curious.”

* * *

“You sure you don’t wanna come?” Stan asks, leaning against Kyle’s door. 

For Kyle, Sunday nights are usually spent reviewing his coursework for the week. Tonight would’ve been no different if the guys didn’t get their bids back from Phi Omicron Omega. Even though not all of them got in, they’re all going out to Raisins to celebrate. And Stan has the bright idea to invite Kyle with them. 

“I don’t feel like I have anything to celebrate,” Kyle replies, sitting at his desk. “I mean, Cartman got into a fraternity. That doesn’t make me happy.”

“Dude, we’re all seriously surprised. Just between you and me, Clyde said it’s a diversity thing.” 

“Because he’s fat?” 

“No, because he’s Jewish.” 

Kyle tosses his head back and groans like a dying giraffe. “There is no God, Stan.” 

“C’mon.” Stan walks into the room. “You said you’d give hanging with the guys a chance. This is a great time. Even Tweek is coming and he never goes out with us.” 

“I can’t. I think I’m losing my will to live,” Kyle says with his hands covering his face. 

“You’re being way too dramatic.” 

“Just leave me here to die,” Kyle playfully wails. 

Stan leans forward and puts his hands on the armrests, successfully trapping Kyle in the chair. “C’mon, Kyle…” 

Kyle lifts his head back up. Stan’s standing far too close for him to think of a witty retort. After their movie night, he’s 76.41% sure that Stan feels the same way about him. He can’t have imagined those looks on him when Stan thought he wouldn’t notice. 

“I really want you to be there.” 

Kyle exhales a sigh and nods, resigning to both the fact that he’s going to Raisins and that he’s heads over heels for Stan. 

Stan backs up, his smile can outshine the sun. “It’ll be fun. I promise.” 

“For Cartman, maybe. He’s going to rub it in my face and rips on me all night,” Kyle grumbles as he puts on his coat. 

It’s only about a twenty minutes walk from campus to downtown South Park, but Stan and Kyle are the last ones to arrive. Kyle immediately tenses up. Not only from the restaurant atmosphere but he can’t shake the feeling that Stan has sugarcoated what the guys think about him. Out of the eleven people present, only Butters and Kenny give him a good-natured greeting. The rest ranges from surprise, awkwardness, and full-on indifference. 

“Uh, Stan...” Eric is the first one to speak up. “This is a table for 12. It’s not gonna fit 13 people.” 

“We’ll make room,” Stan says. “I didn’t know Scott was coming.” 

Eric says, “We didn’t know Kahl was coming. I just don’t see how we’re gonna make room for one more person… The table is so small.” 

“If you move,” Craig states as a matter-of-factly, “we can fit five more people here.” 

“‘ey, screw you, Craig! I’m being serious here!” 

“Aww, c’mon, fellas. We just gotta scoot and we can fit one more chair here. It’ll be cozier,” Butters says. Already, he’s scooting his chair closer to Tweek. 

“I’m sure that’s violating fire codes. Butters, stop moving your goddamn chair,” Eric calls out. “They’ll call the fire marshall on us.” 

With no heed to Eric’s threat, Butters’ side of the table moves to make room. Stan nudges Kyle with his elbow, and Kyle relaxes slightly. Maybe it won’t be as bad as he’s psyching himself up for it. He thanks everyone and sits sandwiched between Kenny and Stan. It’s a tight fit but no one is making a fuzz. The waitress doesn’t seem to care either. Eric is the only one who has an issue with it, grumbling on and on about how they’re going to get kicked out. 

In all honesty, Kyle would’ve liked to not sit next to Kenny (and definitely not diagonal to Eric), but it’s too late to trade seats with Stan. He just has to accept that Kenny’s part of the group now and they’ll see each other a lot more often. It’s probably for the best though; he’ll freak out less when he runs into Kenny now. 

“Are we splitting the bill evenly?” Token asks from the end of the table. 

“Uh, Keeny’s poor. He doesn’t have any money,” Eric answers. 

“It’s cool. I got him,” Craig offers. Kenny leans back into his chair and makes a hand heart at Craig. 

“The fuck, Craig.” Eric frowns. “You never offer to pay for me.” 

“No one can’t afford to pay for how much you eat,” Jason says while Craig nods in agreement. 

“Do you think a hundred wings is enough for all of us?” Clyde asks. 

Stan looks to Eric. “That reminds me. Cartman, you still owe me $22 for Sizzler last time. When are you paying me back?” 

“Get off my balls, Stan. I’ll pay you later.” Eric turns to Clyde. “And no, Clyde, a hundred wings is not enough.” 

"We're ordering other things too. Stan can't eat chicken," Clyde says.

"Stan, stop being a vegan pussy," Eric says. "You're ruining dinner."

"You're ruining my life," Stan replies.

Token says, “Let’s just split the bill. Except for Stan. Is that cool with everyone?” 

Bradley leans forward to address the whole table. “We’ll all chip in for Kenny so Craig doesn’t have to pay for it alone. That works, right?” 

Everyone, even Kyle (to his own surprise), nods without protest. Eric looks left and right in a panic. 

“What the fuck is happening?” Eric asks. “Why are you all sucking Keeny’s balls?” 

“We are all quite fond of Kenny. He is a good man,” Kevin explains on behalf of the group. 

“Unlike a certain fatass here,” Craig says. 

“Don’t talk about Clyde like that.” Eric reaches behind Scott to pat Clyde on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, brah, I got your back.” 

“He was talking about you, fuckface.” Clyde rolls his eyes. 

“Guys, it’s cool. I got like, three-fifty on me,” Kenny speaks up at last, lowering the menu. “I’ll just order a coke. No one has to cover me.” 

“Fuck that. We’re celebrating tonight, man,” Clyde says. “I mean… even though you didn’t get in.” 

“I don’t get it. The fellas seemed to love ya.” Butters frowns. 

“Oh my god... because he’s poor.” Eric mutters through gritted teeth. “I said it like a million times. Why is no one listening to me!” 

Kyle thinks he might be the only person who notices the glint in Kenny’s eyes. It’s the same look he saw at the library---a mix of self-disgust and loss, a wish to be different but knowing it’s not possible to change. Kyle lowers his attention back to the menu, suddenly feeling very sorry for Kenny but understanding Kenny won’t want anyone's pity. 

“Who knows?” Kenny shrugs. “It doesn’t matter. Like Eric says, I’m poor. I can’t pay for it anyways.” 

“Ah-ha!” Eric points both index fingers at Kenny. “He admits he’s poor. You guys, did you hear that?” 

“He’s poor. So what.” Craig gives Eric a dull glare. 

“Yeah, no one cares, fatass,” Token calls from his end. “Are we ready to order yet?” 

“Eric, I’m rich in soul,” Kenny says with both hands over his heart. 

“I can’t decide what I want - What if I don't - like what I order,” Tweek mutters next to Craig. “Gah, this is so - much pressure!” 

“Goddammit…” Eric squeezes his eyes and sighs. “I hate you, Keeny...” 

“That’s not what you said the other night,” Kyle blurbs out, glancing up from the menu he practically memorized by now. The table quiets down. The spotlight is on him; he knows if he wants to win the guys over, he has to screw Eric over. Not that he feels remotely bad for it though. A smile spreads like a fire across his face. “The other night when you came back from the party. You don’t remember?” 

Kenny presses his lips tight, barely managing to stifle his laugh. Eric’s eyes tremble, wordlessly telling Kyle that he does not, in fact, remember what he said. 

“This is gonna be good,” Scott whispers. 

“I think it was something like…” Kyle pauses then puts on his best impression of Eric. “... _I love you, Keeny. You’re my best friend. I love you sooooo much.”_  

The table erupts in a fit of laughers. Even Tweek is giggling with his hand clasped over his mouth. Eric burns his face red, his fists clenched and shaking angrily. 

“I did not say that!” Eric bangs his hands on the table. “He’s making it up!” 

“You sure did, Eric. I was there. You said you love Kenny a whole lot,” Butters laughs. 

“Shut the fuck up, Butters! Why the fuck would I say anything like that about Keeny? He’s a white-trash hillbilly!” 

“Wait… so you didn’t mean it when you said if you had a vagina, you would let me stick it in and have my bastards?” Kenny tilts his head, faking the most hurt look. 

“Fuck off, Keeny!” Eric shrieks, his eyes shut and his body trembling with rage. “I fucking hate all of you!” 

“Listen, sweetie.” Their waitress, Porsche, comes over and gives Eric a warning look. “You need to keep it down or I’m gonna have to ask you to leave, okay? Thanks.” 

Kyle looks over at Stan. Stan grins at him and gives him a thumbs-up. He smiles back and feels like he may fit in just fine with the guys after all.

* * *

“All right, fine,” Kyle says, throwing a hand up in defeat. “I had a good time. There, I said it. Are you satisfied now?” 

“I told you it’ll be fun, didn’t I?” Stan grins from ear to ear. 

Kyle scoffs and blows softly into the lid opening. After dinner, Stan and him stopped by Harbucks for something warm while the others went off on their own plans. Walking side-by-side down the quiet street back to campus, Kyle has to admit, yes, he did in fact have fun at dinner. Even if some of it was at the expense of Eric. Actually, scratch that. He’s happy he had fun at Eric’s expense. It’s not like Eric hasn’t been doing the same to him since the day they met. 

“Yes, you did,” Kyle says after a taste sip. His chamomile tea still needs to cool a few degrees.. “Thanks for twisting my arm and making me come.” 

“Twisting your arm? I didn’t do that,” Stan says with a faked offense in his tone. “I asked very nicely.” 

“That’s not how I remember it happened.” Kyle rotates the cup in his hand. Vague, distant footsteps take his eyes off his task for a moment. 

“Okay, how do you remember it?” 

“Let’s see. You cornered me in my chair.” Kyle shoots a side glance at Stan. “You used your puppy eyes on me.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Stan shakes his head like he’s utterly lost. “What puppy eyes?” 

“You’re such an asshole.” Kyle looks down at his cup then brings it up to his lips again. Still too hot. 

“Right, I’m the asshole for showing you a good time. You gonna be down hanging out with us again?” 

Kyle glances behind him at the sound of footfalls. A second look reveals there is no one there. No one he can see anyway. He looks back at Stan and smiles teasingly. “I guess I have to. You don’t play fair. Who knows what other tricks you have up your sleeves?” 

“I really have no idea what you’re talking about.” Stan chuckles and glances away to look at nothing in particular. “Hey, uh… Kyle?” 

“Yeah?” Kyle doesn’t hear anymore footsteps. Instead, an uneasy feeling creeps up his spine when he distinctively feels a presence lurking behind them in the darkness. 

“If you don’t wanna hang out with the guys,” Stan is saying but Kyle is barely registering the words, “... it can just be the two of us. You know, like…” 

“Stan.” 

Kyle stops and grips Stan by his forearm. His eyes are locked on Stan even though he desperately wants to turn his head and locates what’s making his stomach turn violently. 

Stan steps forward and puts his hand on Kyle though it offers little comfort. “What is it?” 

“... I think we’re being followed.”


	5. Misinformation and Conspiracies

_This course assesses effective ways to counter widespread misinformation and examines how conspiracy theories undermines power structure and why tinfoil hats are a fashion faux pas._

* * *

“I don’t see anyone,” Stan says.

A couple whispering sweet nothings huddles together across the street. A lone jogger, his breath clouding in front of his mouth, runs around the corner. A critter rustles through the leaves behind them. A car idles at the red traffic light. A homeless man pushes a loaded shopping cart and stops next to a trash can down the way. Nothing is out of place. No one is suspicious.

Kyle flicks his eyes back and forth in desperate hope that his worry isn’t baseless. No matter how intently he searches, no evidence of his accusation materializes. He’s left staring blankly into the distance, frustrated by his own unfounded paranoia.

“Kyle, you okay?” Stan squeezes his arm to beckon his attention.

Kyle snaps around and catches the concern look in Stan’s eyes. It makes him feel all the more ridiculous over what he said. There is no one following them. Why in the world would anyone be following them in the first place? It’s not like he’s a bad luck magnet and is going to get mugged twice.

“Yeah - no, I’m sorry. It was nothing.” Kyle shakes his head and chuckles a hollow laugh. “I must have imagined it. I’m not usually this dramatic, I swear.”

Stan strokes his thumb down Kyle’s sleeve, sending sparks that fluster Kyle more than excite him. “If there’s something bothering you, you know you can tell me, right? I mean, I’m here for you.”

“Thank you... I know.” Kyle means it more than his words can convey. He haphazardly adds, “You’re the kind of the only friend I have at school.”

When Stan takes his hand off his arm, Kyle feels like he loses an anchor and is set adrift in a merciless ocean. He bites the inside of his mouth. He wonders if Stan knows how cruel he is, looking at him with that protective smile and sweet kind eyes.

“Let’s get back. I wanna hear what’s going on,” Stan suggests. It’s the best idea Kyle has heard all day.

The 20-minute walk back to the dorm feels like 40 in the chilled September night. Despite Stan’s previous offer, it’s the first time Kyle has ever been in Stan’s room. It’s definitely less tidy than Kyle would have liked. A half-hidden piles of unwashed laundry behind the closet scents the room, and both trash bins are filled to the brim. Kyle would’ve taken a seat in Stan’s chair if a pair of dirty socks hasn’t claimed it already.

“Here, just - um, sit on the bed,” Stan says, doing his best to contain the mess.

“It’s fine. You don’t need to worry about it.” Kyle waves him off and sits down at the edge of Stan’s bed. “Thanks for having me over.”

Stan kicks a backpack under the desk then takes a beer out from the mini fridge. He twists off the cap as he sits on Clyde’s bed across the way. Kyle doesn’t want to think about how much trouble they would get in if the RA did a room inspection right now. Then again, luckily their RA isn’t the most competent person for the position either.

“So what’s going?” Stan asks after a swig. He scoots until his back is pressed up against the wall and pulls one knee up toward his chest. “Why were you so edgy?”

Kyle runs his thumbs over the cup sleeve. His chamomile tea has long cooled down and lost its taste, but he holds onto it for comfort. He doesn’t know where to start, or how much he actually wants to tell Stan. The mugging isn’t a huge deal to him; he didn’t get hurt and he didn’t lose anything. Mysterion, on the other hand, is a floodgate that he doesn’t want to open. Regardless of how he feels about Mysterion’s action, he agrees that the less people knowing about him, the better it is for everyone.

So he doesn’t bring up a word about what happened to him and he doesn’t make one mention of Mysterion. Instead, he talks about something else on his mind that’s seemingly linked. “Have you heard about the stuff happening on campus? People getting mugged… vandalism… burglary… Anything like that?”

Stan shakes his head almost immediately. “Is that a thing that’s going on?”

“Apparently so. It’s just kind of weird, don’t you think? That we haven’t heard anything. You’d think the school would’ve said something. I mean, they made an announcement Taco Bell is serving Takis tacos, but not this.”

“Oh man, have you had those tacos? They're so bomb!” At the unsmiling look Kyle gives him, Stan quickly falls back on track. “Maybe the school doesn’t know because people aren't reporting it. If someone steals my phone, I'm not gonna call the cops. It sucks, but it's not a big deal.”

“You would just let it slide?” Kyle raises his brow.

“No - not let it slide, but I'm not gonna get worked up over a phone or if someone TP’ed my room. Maybe people just don't give enough of a shit to say anything.”

“Or they do, but no one wants to hear it,” Kyle says. Even Jimmy, who works for the school paper, didn’t ask him about his incident. “Or someone’s not letting them say it.”

“You mean like.... the school’s keeping it quiet?” Stan asks, his fingers distractingly sliding up and down the bottleneck. “I can see that. They don’t want people thinking the school isn't safe.”

“By putting more people in danger.”

Stan scoots forward until he’s at the edge of the bed. “Is this what this is about? You don't feel safe?”

“Do you?” At Stan’s indecisive shrug, Kyle rolls his eyes and says, “Of course not, you're six-foot tall. Who's going to jump you?”

“I’m not trying to make it like it’s not something serious, but maybe you’re psyching yourself out,” Stan says. “A couple of people getting mugged or whatever and we don’t hear about it doesn’t mean there is a cover-up conspiracy going on.”

“It’s not ‘whatever’,” Kyle says, notably defensive. “People can get hurt. People have. Whether the school addresses the issue or not is important. It’s an indication of our value to them. If they’re under-reporting or sweeping things under the rug, that’s a very serious problem.” Kyle throws his hand out, exasperated. “Regardless of all that, don’t you care people’s lives and property are at risk here?”

“I’m not disagreeing with you, Kyle,” Stan says and pinches his nose bridge. “I’m just --- nevermind.”

Kyle exhales into the uncomfortable silence and stares down at his tea. “... I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say you don’t care.”

“Don’t be. I know you weren’t.”

Kyle licks his lips and lift his head in time to see Stan taking a long sip of his beer. He wants to tell Stan what happened. He wants to justify why he’s so agitated by Stan’s apathy and why the matter isn’t something to shrug off. He wants Stan to be careful because six-foot-tall or not, it doesn't guarantee his safety. He wants to get up and sit next to Stan, instead of staring at the palpable gap getting wider between them as the silence drags on.

“I guess I am scared,” Kyle says so softly he isn’t sure if Stan can hear him.

Clyde’s bed groans at the weight change when Stan stands up. Kyle watches Stan come over and sits down next to him, the beer hooked between his index and middle finger. Their knees gingerly touch but neither draws any attention to the intimacy.

“If you need to go somewhere and you don’t feel like being by yourself, let me know,” Stan says with honest eyes. “I’ll go with you. You don’t have to be alone, okay?”

Kyle doesn’t know what expression he’s making. His gaze both locks onto Stan and desperately tries to look away. His mouth twitches into a smile and a grimace at the same time. He wants to close the distance between their bodies and duck under the bed simultaneously.

Stan drapes an arm around Kyle’s shoulder and shakes him supportively. “I got your back, remember?”

Kyle settles with a touched smile and timidly leans into the contact. “Yeah, I remember. That means a lot, Stan. Thank you.”

This is the second time tonight Stan takes his hand off him, and it still wakes a hurricane inside Kyle.

“No problem. You know the offer still stands. You ever need some place to go, you’re welcome here.” Stan turns half-way. His eyes lower down to Kyle’s chest level. If Kyle didn’t know better, Stan almost looks shy. “If you wanna stay… you can.”

Kyle’s throat tightens. He swears he can taste his pounding heart on his tongue. Stan’s eyes are still set beneath eye level, which is a blessing because Kyle doesn’t think he can think straight if he makes eye contact with Stan. He fiddles with the cup sleeve. Like the first time Stan made the offer, he has no clue what self-control possesses him to not nod his head yes till he breaks his neck.

“I think I bothered you enough for one night,” Kyle says with a self-deprecating chuckle. He scoots off the bed, diligently balancing the cup so it doesn’t spill. “I should get going. I have philosophy discussion at eight.”

“Oh... Sure.” Stan follows suit off the bed and walks Kyle out.

Kyle lingers outside his own door, taking his time to fish out the key from his pocket that isn’t hard to find. When he does finally get his key out, he holds it in his free hand and stalls yet another moment longer.

“You need help?” Stan asks, as considerate as ever.

“No - I, uh…” With all the courage he can muster, Kyle moves in and hugs Stan. It’s awkwardly timed and placed, with Stan not expecting the sudden contact and Kyle pulling back apace. Stan nearly knocks the tea right out of Kyle’s hand when he tries to return the hug that’s already over. Kyle presses his lips tight, willing his cheeks to not blush, and says, “I know I’ve said it a million times by now, but thank you… for everything.”

“Don’t mention it.” Stan slacks his shoulders, a gentleness lighting up his face. “Take it easy, Kyle.”

Kyle scans the key over the lock and walks into his room after goggling at Stan for a second too long. He leans against the door and listens to muted footsteps retreating. He turns to stare at the wall like he suddenly has x-ray vision. What wouldn’t he give if he can see Stan for another second longer.

* * *

As it turns out, Kyle is in the same econ lecture as Pip and Thomas. He just never saw them before since they stick to the back because of Thomas’ condition. It’s by sheer coincidence that they ran into each other while turning in their first test of the semester, which reminds Kyle further just how small this school can be.

Sitting across from Pip, Thomas, and Damien (who was waiting for Pip outside of class), Kyle bites into his Takis taco (holy hell, they are delicious) while Pip reports on the whereabouts of his other two companions.

“Gregory’s busy with the rally. He’s set to have it on Friday afternoon,” Pip says after taking out the bag from his tea. “He’s hoping for a good turn-out.”

“No one is going to come,” Thomas says, mixing his tostada bowl. “No one cares about anything.”

Pip shakes a packet of sugar and pours it into his tea. “I don’t know about that. I know I’ll go. Damien will too, won’t you?”

“Yeah, for the lulz,” Damien answers, his chin resting on his palm and his eyes glue to Pip’s every move. At the confusion blooming on Pip’s face, he rephrases his reply. “Yes, I’ll go.”

Pip turns to Kyle, a hopeful light in his eyes. “What about you, Kyle? Will you be joining us?”

Kyle swallows his mouthful and grabs a napkin to dab his lips. “Yeah, sure. I think it’s good to bring attention to this. It’ll force the administration to respond. This has gone on for too long and too often for them to not react.”

“Lovely! I’m sure Gregory will be very happy to hear that. He thinks rather highly of you, oh, but don’t tell him I told you,” Pip chirps. “Thomas, he would love to have you as well, you know.”

“Cock!” Thomas stares at his food with downcast eyes. “Ughhh, he just wants a poster child. Someone to guilt-trip everyone else into doing something. Oooh look at poor Thomas. He has Tourette’s and got beaten up and mugged. People will eat that up.”

“Oh dear, I don’t think that’s Gregory’s intention.” Pip reaches over and touches Thomas gently on the arm. “He thinks you ought to speak up about your experience, that’s all.”

Thomas shakes his head defiantly. “He can find someone else for a publicity stunt.”

“Gregory doesn’t need the victims to be at the rally,” Kyle jumps in when he sees the agitation in Thomas. If someone was trying to put him in that position, he’d be upset too. “He doesn’t need to parade anyone around to make his point. People will get it.”

Thomas looks at Kyle with an appreciative glance. His attention quickly gets distracted by something behind Kyle. He waves to someone meekly, a diffident smile taking up his face. Kyle turns his head and sees Craig, in line at City Wok Express, waving back. All Kyle gets from Craig is an apathetic stare before Clyde, who looks pissed off about something, tugs on Craig’s sleeve and gets him to look away.

“Thomas, is that him? Oh, it is, isn’t it?” Pip asks excitedly. “Why don’t we invite him to sit with us?”

“What - no!” Thomas visibly tenses and looks at Pip with a nervous twitch. “Cockshit! We can’t do that.”

“Do you guys know Craig?” Kyle steals another peep at the line then back at Pip and Thomas.

Pip gasps and places his fingers over his mouth. “Kyle, is he a friend of yours?”

Friend is a word Kyle is sure both him and Craig will agree isn’t suitable to describe their relationship. He says instead, “We live in the same building.”

“How wonderful!” Pip leans up out of his chair for a better look. “He seems like a rather darling boy. Thomas, I can see why you’re smitten with him.”

“I’m not smitten! Aww shit!” Thomas lowers his head and prods his salad. “Can we talking about something else please? The rally? Or Christophe? I mean, we haven’t seen him for two days. That’s way more important than this.”

“Christophe is fine. I’ll know if he’s dead.” To Kyle’s surprise, Damien miraculously manages to take his attention off Pip and looks over his shoulder at Craig as well. Kyle wonders how Pip can function under the surveillance of those afire eyes. “Good taste, Thomas. He’s hot.”

Pip smiles coyly, tapping his fingers against his cup. “Kyle… Pardon me for asking, but would you happen to know if Craig fancies anyone?”

“Pip, cut it out!” Thomas whispers like he’s afraid Craig can hear him all the way over there.

Everything Kyle knows about Craig Tucker can fit on the head of a pin. He knows from the guys that Craig is particularly protective of Tweek, but that can mean anything. Craig and Clyde are close; they ate off the same spoon at Raisins. Craig and Kenny are close too, in a weird kindred spirit kind of way. Craig and Token are arguably close as well. Basically, Kyle has no freaking clue if Craig’s seeing someone or not.

“I honestly don’t know.” Kyle oscillates his attention between the three. “Craig mostly keeps to himself. He doesn’t talk much.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Pip says, more disappointed than Thomas.

“I’ll ask him.” Damien stands up. Even Kyle can tell he’s doing it for Pip’s sake, and not Thomas’.

Thomas practically launches across the table to stop Damien from leaving. “Don’t do that. Please. You’ll freak him out.”

“Damien, I must agree it isn't necessary. You’re upsetting Thomas,” Pip cuts in.

“Fine.” Damien sits back down then gestures at Kyle with his thumb. “Maybe our new friend can do it.”

“Asshole! Don’t do it!” Thomas shrieks.

“I’m not going to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.” Kyle shrugs his shoulders. As much as he feels bad for embarrassing Thomas, he has to admit he’s curious about something. He can easily get why Thomas would be into Craig, but that’s not what’s piquing his curiosity. “How do you know Craig anyway?”

The way Thomas lowers back into the chair and the tension building in his jaw don’t go unnoticed. Even Pip seems afflicted by Kyle’s seemingly innocent question. Damien is the only one who doesn’t falter but he’s hopelessly tactless and unconcerned about everything non-Pip-related.

“He walked me home after I got mugged,” Thomas mutters, his voice laced with lovelorn gratitude and flat anxiety. “He just happened to be there and he wanted to walk me back.”

It’s now Kyle’s turn to be silenced by the seemingly innocent answer. He stares at Thomas, wordlessly urging him to keep talking.

“That was so kind of him.” Pip tilts his head and smiles softly.

“You sure you don’t want to invite him over?” Damien asks with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Yes!” Thomas puts his head between his palms. “It won’t matter anyway. Cockfucker! It’s not like anyone would give me the time of day.”

“Oh, love, that’s not true,” Pip chides and squeezes Thomas’ arm. “You’re a very delightful person and splendid company. If they can’t appreciate you, it’s their own folly.”

“You don’t have to lie.” Thomas looks down at his tostada like it’s the only thing he can trust.

While Pip tries to soothe Thomas with strokes up and down his back, Kyle uses the opportunity to check out the City Wok Express line. Craig and Clyde left already; a quick scan of the immediate area doesn’t reveal their whereabout either. Kyle turns back to Pip and Thomas.

“Did Craig see what happened?” Kyle asks too forwardly.

Pip and Thomas share a puzzled look before Thomas hesitantly nods. “Yes… He was there the whole time.”

“So he saw the masked guy too.”

Thomas glances sideways at Pip then looks back to Kyle. Even Damien eyes him suspiciously. Thomas nods again and says with the same hesitation. “Yes… He thought the guy was cool.” He lowers his gaze and goes on with a fond half-smile. “He said if he could dress up in a costume and beat people up, he would be so happy.”

Kyle plays the revelation over in his head. Granted, he already confessed he doesn’t know much about Craig, but he would think Craig would bring something as unusual as that up to someone, and he would hear it through Stan or Eric later. But he hasn’t heard a word, which leads him to the conclusion that, for some unknown reason, Craig didn’t mention it.

“Why do you ask?” Thomas interrupts Kyle’s train of thoughts.

Kyle doesn't need to lie. “I thought he would’ve said something. About the masked guy.”

“You did say he didn’t talk much,” Damien brings up.

“Yeah, that’s true.” But Kyle can’t shake the feeling that Craig knows more than he leads on. “I just hope he doesn’t get it in his head to start dressing up too.”

* * *

When Kyle gets back in the evening, the sight that awaits him in his hall lounge is something he would have never expected in a million year. The New Terrance and Phillip Show is on. Stan is sitting on the left side of the couch. Butters is on the right. In between them, there is a dent that’s clearly Eric’s ass print. But that’s not what has Kyle staring blankly as his mind tries to process the unbelievable. A piece of shit - a literal piece of shit - is sitting on the dent between Stan and Butters.

“It’s not real,” Stan clarifies as soon as he sees the twitch on Kyle’s mouth. “It’s fake. Plastic.”

“Why - is there a hair ribbon on it?” Kyle doesn’t really want to know but the scenario is absurd enough as it is, he might as well go in for the whole ride.

“Well that’s because she’s a girl.” Butters looks at Kyle like obviously duh. “Cute little gal, ain’t she? Eric’s real proud of her.”

“Oh, that explains everything,” Kyle says even though it actually doesn’t. A toilet flushes then the bathroom door slides open and out comes Eric. Kyle pulls a disgusted face and stares at Eric. “You didn’t wash your hands.”

“What was that?” Eric shoots Kyle a glance as he picks up the poop off the couch and takes a seat.

"You didn't wash your hands. You flushed the toilet then you came right out. I heard you didn't wash your hands."

Eric cocks his head to the side and frowns repulsively. "You were listening to me taking a dump? Kahl, please keep your scat fetish in check. Butters is here. You’re gonna corrupt his innocent mind.”

Stan laughs and scoots away from Eric at the same beat. “You probably should wash your hands before handling your poop. You don’t want to get it sick.”

“Can someone please explain what’s happening?” Kyle asks while Eric tries to rub the poop against Stan’s cheek for “kisses.” “Why does Cartman have a piece of shit?”

“‘ey, don’t call Amber a piece of shit, you piece of shit!” Eric defends, putting the poop down on his laps. “You wouldn’t understand anyway. It’s a Phi O2 thing.”

“I understand perfectly. Is this how they’re hazing you?” Kyle raises his brow expectantly.

“It’s not hazing,” Eric says with a roll of his eyes. “It’s for our philanthropy, I’ll have you know. I said you wouldn’t understand.”

“And what’s your noble philanthropy?” Kyle asks.

When Eric stares off grumpily to the side and doesn’t answer, Butters happily steps in. “Give a Crap about Crap! They raise awareness for constipation.”

Stan looks at Kyle with a pressed smile. “All the pledges have to have it with them at all time, until initiation in January. Clyde says the initiated members do surprise check and if you don’t have your poop, you’re kicked out.”

“Do you mean to tell me… there is going to be a bunch of guys on campus, carrying around a fake piece of poop for three months?” At Stan’s confirming nod, Kyle draws out a long groan. “Does no one think this is bullshit?”

“You just don’t understand, okay?” Eric flutters his eyelashes haughtily. “It’s a time-honored tradition amongst Phi O2 brothers. Our forefathers and their fathers did it. It’s part of history. It thins out who the real men are. Not like Craig. Fuck that wimpy asshole.”

“Craig quitted?” Kyle looks to Stan, who nods.

“Yeah, fucking loser,” Erc grumbles then chuckles happily. “Oh my god, Clyde almost cried when Craig walked out. It was soooooo funny.”

“Good for Craig.” Kyle eyes Amber then smirks at Butters. “It looks like you dodged a bullet too, Butters.”

“Aww geez, I wouldn’t be any good at takin’ care a poop anyhow,” Butters says.

“Whatever, You’re all just jelly you aren’t part of something awesome,” Eric grouses. He rubs his belly and huffs. “What time is it? Where the fuck is Keeny? I’m freaking starving.”

Butters takes out his phone and checks it. “He said he’ll be here at 7. He’s never late.”

“Hey Kyle, you wanna come with?” Stan smiles and Kyle makes up his mind already.

“Do I have to eat at the same table with that?” Kyle quirks his lip at at Eric. “Cartman, I mean. Not Amber.”

“Fuck you, Kahl.” Eric scrolls down his phone screen. He presses on something and a disjointed audio starts playing through the speakers. “Holy shit. You guys saw what Kelly just posted on her Twitter?”

“Which Kelly?” Stan asks and leans over to look at Eric’s screen. “... Dude!”

“I wanna see.” Butters gets up on his knees so he can see the phone from above. “Woah… Play it again, Eric.”

Curiosity is a trap, Kyle should know by now. He moves in and leans by Stan’s side to look at the screen as well. The video is shaky and wherever it is, it’s barely lit. A row of cars and tall buildings in the backdrop say that it may be one of the resident halls. Despite not having a clear view from where he is standing, Kyle will never mistaken the cloaked figure for anything else.

In the short 49-second video, Mysterion tackles a bulky man to the ground as a girl frantically crawls to safety. There is a brief struggle for dominance between the hero and the bad guy. Mysterion takes a kick to the gut then a punch to the face, but recovers immediately and socks the man with his elbow. The man loses his footing. Mysterion goes in for a bolley kick and nails the man right in the head, dropping him like a fly. The video ends with Mysterion looking at the direction of the camera then fleeing the scene.

“Is this for real?” Stan asks the Play icon like it’ll tell him. “It’s not staged?”

“Did you guys see his undies?” Eric clicks the reply button and reads aloud as he types. “What a fucking dweeb. Hashtag lameass.”

While Stan tells Eric to play the video again and Eric asks him if he has an tighty-whities fetish, Kyle holds his breath and steps away nervously. If Mysterion didn’t want people writing an article on him, how is he going to react to a viral video that’s gaining more views every second?

“Lemme watch it again,” Stan insists, reaching for Eric’s phone.

“Watch it on your own damn phone. I won’t feed your fetish,” Eric scowls and leans away into Butters. “‘ey, don’t squish Amber!”

“Hey, fellas, I just got a text from Kenny,” Butters calls out with Eric crushing down on him. “Aww, he says he’s not gonna make it tonight.”

Kyle moves before he even registers his feet are running out the door. The light in the video is about the same as the sky right now. If he hurries, he thinks maybe he can catch Mysterion.


	6. To Revolt or Not to Revolt

_This course explores fundamental questions about the causes and nature of revolutions through insightful and enchanting musical numbers._

* * *

By Friday, Mysterion is the only conversation at school anyone wants to have. Everywhere he goes, everyone he talks to, Kyle is bombarded with gossips and rumors about the masked man who captured the campus’ attention. As with everything in life, opposing sides with different opinions surface. Some are infatuated with the idea of vigilante hero. Others, much like himself, question the lack of accountability. Still others think this is a complete joke. To his frustration, people are far more interested in figuring out Mysterion’s identity than looking at the source of his motive. A girl was caught on video being attacked, yet no one’s speaking her name. A victim swept under the rug. Her trauma overshadowed by an overnight sensation.

He is, of course, paraphrasing a comment from Gregory’s email that popped up in his inbox this morning. He’s still contemplating the membership invitation to the Gregory and Wendyl’s resistance group (as Gregory christened it) as he walks to the front of the lecture hall where he likes to sit. He has no doubt a change is needed, but Gregory and Wendyl’s ideology sound as reckless as Mysterion’s path. And really, at the end of the day, he just wants to have a normal college experience without all the hijinks.

Behind him, two girls talk loud enough for him to overhear even if the topic is the same rehash.

“How do you know for sure it’s a guy? It can totally be a girl.”

“Because no girl is tacky enough to wear her panties on the outside. If I were going to put on that outfit, I’d pick something way more cute to wear.”

“If it’s a guy, I hope he’s cute. Oh, but what if he hides his face because he’s ugly?”

“He’s a superhero, Annie. He has to cover his face. I bet he’s hot.”

“I heard from Monica that she heard from Bebe that she heard from Millie that Kelly said Mysterion has an accent. Like, a French one.”

“I heard Mysterion’s shredded,” a new voice chimes in. “I heard his six-packs have their own six-packs.”

“Ugh,” the one who's not Annie says, her footsteps stopping for a moment to change direction. “Annie, come on. Let’s sit over here. _Away_ from Kenny.”

The name reaffirms the twist in Kyle's stomach when heard the third voice at first. He turns half a head and looks at the two girls sliding into a row while Kenny stays in the aisle, forcing a student to side-step around him.

“Aww, Jessie,” Kenny says, hands in the pockets of his usual orange parka and wearing a pout. ”I heard lots of stuff about Mysterion. You don’t wanna hear?”

“Not from you. Go away,” Jessie replies then turns to Annie, presumably whispering something about Kenny.

As sad as it is to say, the girls’ attitude toward Kenny doesn’t faze Kyle in the least. In the limited time he’s known Kenny, he knows that Kenny has a rep with the girls (and the occasional boys) as being a player. He never seems to settle on one person and avoid commitment like it’s expired milk. On the other hand, he’s surprisingly loyal when it comes to his friends, treating it with a higher level of respect. From what Kyle can understand, Kenny doesn’t mind it when people like him. It’s when love comes to play that Kenny becomes unhinged.

Not that it really matters to him much. His interest in befriending Kenny hasn’t increased even as they both gradually (well, Kenny more so than him) become part of the gang. Even if Kenny thinks differently. While Kenny respects his space, he doesn't get the hints that kyle doesn’t see any necessity to advance their relationship. But perhaps that’s what charms people to Kenny in the first place. His tenacity to see something through. Much like how he's sitting down in a row ahead of Annie and Jesse and talking to them regardless of their turned heads.

Kyle keeps going a few rows down then takes a seat in the middle for the best view. Despite himself, he spies behind him, his sight honing on Kenny and the girls. Whatever it is that Kenny’s saying to them, the two girls are giggling and acting like they completely changed their opinion. Kyle chuckles to himself and turns back to the blackboard. He has to give it to Kenny; his charisma is unparalleled.

When class ends, Kyle’s one of the last people out of the hall, having stopped to ask the professor a few clarifications on their mid-term essay. He adjusts the strap of his bag as he pushes through the wooden door, his mind already brainstorming on his thesis, only to see Kenny leaning against the wall texting away on his phone. He has half a mind to pretend he doesn’t see Kenny or sneak back into the hall and leave through the other door. But he doesn’t. After all, there is no logical reason why he would need or want to avoid Kenny. It’s not like Kenny makes him inexplicably uncomfortable with the way he looks at him. Like he knows something about Kyle that Kyle doesn’t even know about himself.

When Kenny notices him, he puts away his phone and waves as he strides over with a winsome grin. “Hey, there you are! I thought I missed you.”

Kyle cocks his head as little as he can to hide his surprise. “Oh - were you… waiting for me?”

“Yeah.” Kenny holds up a hand to stop Kyle from reacting. “Not being a total creep or anything. I was thinking I could walk you back to the dorm.”

This time, Kyle can’t hide his eyes going wide and his brows furrowing at the offer. “... Uh… That’s really nice of you… but...” _Why?_ he wants to ask, searching Kenny’s eyes for any hint of ulterior motive. He shakes his head as politely as he can. “I actually have somewhere to be so I’m not going back yet… but, thank you, for the offer. I appreciate it.”

“No sweat. Where you going? I can still walk you there,” Kenny says, his casual shrug not fully masking the insistence in his tone. “If it’s cool with you. Just, y’know, with the way things are. Safety in number.”

“Oh.” Kyle chews the inside of his lip, gripping the strap of his bag a little tighter. That is oddly sweet and thoughtful of Kenny, and he can’t deny he isn’t thankful. “There’s this rally happening at the Quad. I was going to check it out. Some friends of mine are going to be there so, oh, I mean, you’re welcome to come if you’d like. I think they’d like a good turn-out.”

“Sure. What are they protesting?” Kenny says with a nodding smile, “I love being against stuff.”

“Great,” Kyle says, trying to sound as excited as he can. “It’s for a good cause. They’ll be glad to have you.”

The lawn in the middle of campus is packed, but not in the way Kyle thinks Gregory and Wendyl would’ve wanted. The rally was supposed to challenge the administration's mishandling of the crime wave on campus and forcing a response from them. The attendees, on the other hand, are more eager to talk about something else.

“Wait so Mysterion’s not coming? Aww! I stayed up all night making this shirt.” “I’m so high right now. Where am I...?” “No more student debt! Student debt is murder!” “Wrong rally, lady.” “He’s obviously ripping off Batman.” “I knew about Mysterion before he was famous. You’re just a bunch of posers.” “Show us your tits!” “Marvel is better than DC!” “I think, it’s, like, so cool, you know, like what he’s doing, like, wow, it’s so, like, cool.”

Amidst the crowd, Kyle exhales a slow sigh at the turn of event. It’s troubling to say the least; the glorification of Mysterion is getting out of hand. He watches Gregory and Wendyl mutter to each other on the makeshift stage, probably formulating a strategy to get everyone back on track.

Beside him, Kenny takes in the chaos and gives him a helpless smile. “At least they got a good turnout.”

With the amount of people present, Kyle doesn’t notice the two people coming up behind them until their voices break through the nonsensical cacophony.

“What a complete sheet show.”

“I know. This is even funnier than I hoped.”

Kyle turns around just as a huff of cigarette smoke blows right at his face. He closes his eyes and coughs. When he opens his eyes again, Christophe is scrutinizing him with a stare while Damien, next to him, basks in the mayhem.

“Should we do something?” Damien asks, giving Christophe a sidelong smirk.

Without taking his eyes off Kyle or directing his smoke elsewhere, Christophe replies, “No, let him learn. It will pull his head out of his pompous ass.”

Seeing as Christophe is determined to suffocate him with secondhand smoke, Kyle shuffles a little and moves out of the line of fire. He clears his throat to get rid of the stench caught in his throat, but Damien takes it as the wrong cue and turns to him. Fiery black eyes stare and wait for him to speak. Even Kenny is looking at him with anticipation.

“They’re missing the point,” Kyle says since now everyone’s expecting it. “Gregory’s right. They’re not only romanticizing what happened but they’re trivializing someone’s assault for the sake of Mysterion.” He gestures at a trio of students each wearing a purple linen sheet as a cape. “This is not about him. It never should have been. This is about the people who’ve been hurt. It’s about Thomas. It’s about Kelly Rutherford. It’s about us. Right now, Mysterion’s doing more harm than good.” Kyle meets each of their gaze. “Is that really a hero?”

Damien raises his sharp brow. He scoffs mockingly, “If you wanna make a speech, you should do it up there. I’m serious. It looks like they need all the help they can get.”

Kyle presses his lips shut. He should’ve expected as such. Thomas was right too; no one here cares about anything. He picks up the strap of his bag to adjust it on his shoulder. As he’s about to turn around to end the conversation that Damien and Christophe clearly aren’t interested in having, Kenny speaks up.

“He’s trying.”

Kyle watches the flickers in Kenny’s eyes - the same one he’s seen too many times now. Despair. Hopelessness. Guilt. Then amongst them, a faint light. A tendril breaching through the darkness. A conviction to keep going even if all the odds are against him. Perhaps, especially because all the odds are against him.

A thought... an oh-so-humorous thought crosses Kyle’s mind as he rummages every inch of this man next to him, looking for a clue to decipher who the hell Kenneth McCormick really is.

Christophe’s voice is harsh and worn out to his core. “Trying doesn’t count. What do you think this is? TV Kiddie Hour? This is real life. With real consequences.”

“You can do better?” Kenny challenges, a sharpness in his tone that’s uncalled for.

Christophe drops his unfinished cigarette on the ground and snuffs its life out with his heel. His face hardens with an unwavering gaze of confidence. “Yes.”

“The Mole versus Mysterion,” Damien laughs at an inside joke Kyle doesn't get. “I’d pay good money to see that.”

“This is not a game,” Christophe says, his gaze locked on Kenny. “One wrong move, he’ll take people to the grave with him.”

Kenny narrows his eyes, his nostrils flared with a strained breath. “It wouldn’t be because he wanted it to happen.”

“I think we’re getting side-tracked,” Kyle jumps in, sifting his gaze through the palpable tension. “... It’s not about Mysterion, remember?”

“Fellow South Park Cows,” Wendyl’s voice bellows through the megaphone. He stands with the might of a titan and the grace of a god. A real leader, the sort he imagines Gregory can only aspire to be. “You came today because you, too, seek the truth. For far too long, the school administration has ignored our cry for answers. Our friends, our classmates, our neighbors have been victims of an on-going crime wave, yet there has no action from Chancellor Victoria. She thinks she can sweep justice under the rug. She thinks our lives are valued only in terms of our tuition. Today, that will change. Today, she will witness who we are and tremble under the strength of our collective call. Our voices will not be censored. Our anger will not be silenced. Today, we will set forth a revolution. March with me!”

Part of the crowd, caught up in the moment, shouts and cheers and storms after Wendyl and Gregory toward the Chancellor’s office. The rest scatters, not caring about the so-called revolution, and resumes their business as usual.

Damien draws a full smirk and says to Kyle, “Guess someone beat you to the speech.” He takes a step back, nodding for Christophe to follow him in the opposite direction. “Let’s get outta here before they see us. I don’t like marches.”

Christophe has, somewhere during Wendyl’s speech, lit up a new smoke. He blows out a long huff, the grey cloud hovering in the space between him and Kenny. “Good luck with the resistance,” he says, the smoke tucked in his fingers as he waves.

Kenny lingers on the retreating figures of Christophe and Damien. When he turns to face Kyle, Kyle stiffens under the intensity of his gaze. His words, however, are on the polar opposite and completely unexpected.

“That French guy was totally checking you out,” Kenny says.

“Wh - what?”

“Dude, did you not notice it?” Kenny slaps Kyle’s shoulder with the back of his hand. “The way he was looking at you? He wanted to eat you up.”

“No - I, no...” Kyle hopes his cheeks aren’t flushing as hard as he feels they are. “I’m sure that’s how he normally looks at people.”

“Ha, could be. Who knows.” Kenny shrugs then smiles slyly. “Are you interested?”

“N - no!” Kyle blurts out and shakes his head adamantly. “I don’t even know him. I’m - not - no, I’m not interested.”

Kenny nods and says, “He’s kinda fucked up anyways. And he smokes. What a turn-off, man. Oh, unless you’re into that? I know you’re a straight edge but opposite attracts. It’s true.”

“I’m not interested.” Kyle brushes a strand of hair that isn’t there under his hat and looks away at nothing in particular. He knows his face is boiling red and presses his lips tightly together. He wanted to tell Kenny that his heart is already set on Stan and he doesn’t see himself changing his mind anytime soon. But that is information he doesn’t think he needs to share with Kenny. He fixes his bag then takes a few steps toward the marching group. “I’m going to catch up. Do you - ”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll come.” Kenny walks side by side with Kyle. “I wanna see how this ends.”

“Hey… what Christophe said...” Kyle starts, looking over at Kenny.

Kenny shakes his head and cuts off whatever Kyle was going to say. “It’s cool. He’s got a point, but I just can’t stand people who haven’t lifted a finger talking like they know better, you know? Like who are they saying stuff like that when they haven’t done shit to help? People wanna make him out to be a bad guy? Fine. Whatever. Maybe he is. Maybe he isn’t. All I know is he’s trying to make things better and that’s more than most people are doing. … Anyways.” Kenny waves his hand dismissively. “It’s not about him, right? It’s about the people.”

Kyle nods. “Yeah… I guess we’ll know if he’s really a hero or not when we do.”

Kenny smiles, and it fills Kyle with an unspecified worry. “I guess we will.”

* * *

Kyle dabs his face dry with the towel. He traces his finger over his cheekbone, where the bruise has long faded. It has, after all, been a month since he was rescued by Mysterion, the fabled hero of the mass. The funny thing is - and actually rather unsettling when he has the time to think about it - ever since Kelly Gardner’s Twitter video went viral, Mysterion has disappeared.

So have the crimes on campus apparently. Gregory and Wendyl like to think that it has something to do with their protest two weeks ago that finally forced the school to take action. Campus security has tightened. Actual police officers are patrolling the campus ground afterhour, rather than volunteers from the escorts program. It’s been more peaceful and quiet.

Kyle, on the other hand, knows better than to take the calm at face value. There are dots scattered about; he just needs to connect them to see the picture. It doesn’t make any sense for the crimes to stop abruptly and completely the way they did just as Mysterion goes MIA. It’s all too neat.

He opens the bathroom door and steps out. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Kenny and Butters sitting side-by-side on the couch. Kenny is whispering something into Butters’ ear, his lips practically touching the shell. Whatever he’s telling Butters, it’s making Butters grip his jeans anxiously. Kyle, as quietly and as stealthy as possible, crosses the space distance between the bathroom and his room. He fiddles to find his key lost somewhere in his shower caddy.

In that moment, Kenny is cupping Butters by the chin to turn him. With half-lidded eyes, Kenny leans forward while Butters blinks out of circuit with agape mouth.

“Kahl, were you watching Keeny and Butters make out?”

Kyle stifles a _fuck!_ he wanted to shout and glares at Eric, who’s now standing at the entry of the lounge. Kenny and Butters part with Kenny grinning cheekily and Butters grinding his knuckles nervously and muttering something.

“I wasn’t - I was just coming out of the shower,” Kyle says defensively and gestures to his shower gears. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“I always knew you were a sick pervert,” Eric says with a disappointed shake of his head. “I can’t believe you’d prey after poor, sweet Butters. You clearly need help.”

“You need to shut up, Cartman,” Kyle says. He finally locates his key and holds it against the lock. He looks at Kenny and Butters and says apologetically, “... I’m sorry if I interrupted...”

“Showers won’t cleanse your sin, Kahl.” Eric comes forward but stops and sits down at the couch instead. He turns to Kenny and Butters and grumbles, “So this is why you guys weren’t upstairs. We’re all waiting for you.”

“We weren’t making out,” Kenny says. “I was just showing Butters some of my moves so he can use them on Charlotte.”

“I wanna be a good kisser and all, y’know,” Butters says meekly but determinedly. “And Kenny was real nice to help me.”

Kyle raises his brow. Judging by the shit-eating grin on Kenny’s face, he’s sure Kenny’s doing it more for his own gain than the goodness of his heart.

“Oh, right, Charlotte. Your girlfriend. That’s sooooo sweet, Butters,” Eric sneers with his hands over his heart. He plucks his lips and makes a smooching sound. “I bet you give her the best kisses.”

“You sound jealous,” Kyle says with a smirk.

“I’m not jealous,” Eric says, louder than necessary and with his body language betraying him. “Why would I be jealous of Butters’ made-up girlfriend? And what are you still doing here? You weren't invited in this conversation.”

“Hey, that’s not right. Charlotte’s as real as Slash,” Butters says with his brows furrowed.

Eric rolls his eyes. “Yeah, right, like anyone believes you actually have a girlfriend who lives in Canada. Psh, please, Butters. This isn’t fourth grade. Come up with something more original. Why don’t you just admit you wanted Keeny to put his herpes tongue in your mouth?”

“Oh hamburgers.” Butters leans away and worries his lower lip. “You didn’t tell me you had herpes.”

Kenny keeps an arm around Butters’ shoulder with a bemused expression. “Relax. I don’t have herpes. Eric would never let kiss him if I did.”

Kyle can’t help but sniggers at the way Eric’s face blows up. Eric clenches his hands and looks about ready to sock Kenny in the nose but everyone knows he isn’t going to do it. Eric’s weapons are his words, not his fists.

“Shut up, Keeny! You fucking lying poor piece of trash,” Eric shouts with his eyes shut. “We never kissed! Your mouth taste like a vagina!”

Kenny laughs and cocks his brow. “Like you’d know what a vagina tastes like.”

“Or what Kenny’s mouth would taste like if you never kissed,” Kyle helpfully chimes in.

“Fuck off, Kahl! No one even likes you!” Eric screeches and flips Kyle off with both hands.

Butters giggles and nudges Eric playfully. “Aww, Eric, it’s al’right if you like Kenny. He’s a swell fella.”

Eric is practically vibrating with anger. He gets up and storms out of the lounge. “Screw you guys, I’m going upstairs.”

“Hey, c’mon, you wanna kiss to make it better?” Kenny calls, turning around even as Eric keeps going without acknowledging him.

“Aww, gee… did we upset him? I didn’t meant to do that,” Butters says, staring at the empty entry as well. “I’m gonna say sorry.”

Butters squiggles out of Kenny’s arm and skitters upstairs. Kenny gets up as well and shrugs helplessly at Kyle before he, too, heads out and goes after Eric. With everyone gone, Kyle sighs and goes back to his room at last.

He’s two steps in before he steps on a card envelop that obviously was slipped through the crack of the door. He pauses then glances at the empty lounge as if it has explanation for him. He sets down the towel and the caddy on the desk before he picks up the envelop hesitantly. He feels the weight of it in his hand as he turns it over and back. Asides from his name scribbled in meticulous block letters on the front, there is nothing else to give any hint to its content or its sender.

Even before he runs a thumb under the mouth to open it, a sense of dread rears in his stomach. This, he feels like, is the storm the calm alludes to. Out in the foyer, a series of footsteps clamoring down the stairs with accompanying voices shatter the brief silence. It sounds like Kenny and Butters manage to get Eric to calm down, possibly with the help of Stan and the rest of the gang, who were apparently all upstairs.

He’s used to being left out by now and he can feel bad about it later. Right now, his attention is glued to the mystery envelop. The only thing inside is a white rectangular card. On it, there's only one sentence written.

“Hey, Kyle? You back?” Stan's voice comes with a rap on the door, but Kyle barely registers what he's saying. “We're all gonna go to Movie Night. You wanna come? They're showing Sharknado 4. The one with the zombie sharks. It’s gonna be pretty sick.”

Kyle doesn't answer or acknowledge Stan. His eyes scan each letter on the card, like that will magically alter them to mean something else.

“Kyle?” The door creeps open, and Stan pokes his head hesitantly in. Kyle hasn’t even realized he didn’t close the door completely. “Hey… what’re you looking at? … You okay?”

Kyle pries his eyes off the card and turns around with it in his hand. He holds it up for Stan to see, his own hand shaking ever so slightly as he plays over the words in his head.

Stan comes forward, holding out his hand. He stops with his fingers grabbing the edge. “... What the fuck… What does that mean?”

“I… don't know,” Kyle says, his voice barely above a whisper. He turns the card around and re-reads it again.

Big, bold letters, handwritten for sure but with refined calligraphy sprawl across the white card. 

**YOU ARE NEXT**


	7. Human Guilt

_Students examine the cause and effect of guilt and learn hardy approaches to stop feeling bad for the horrible shit they do._

* * *

Four days.

It takes four days before Kyle knows what the message means. It takes four days, as he’s walking down the ominously white and sterile hallway, to know that it wasn’t a prank like Stan tried to convince him. It takes four days, with him gripping the bouquet of flowers and wondering what the fuck are they good for, before he knows the calm was never there at all and the storm has been violently raging when he wasn’t looking.

He knocks on the beige door and lingers a moment longer, mentally preparing himself, before he steps into the room. The smell of disinfectant is suffocating. The steady beep from the monitors sound like thunder to his ears, drowning out his footsteps as he approaches the bed.

Pip gets up from the one of the two chairs lined up against the window. His eyes are swollen and his nose puffy. His smile is strained though Kyle can tell that he’s trying his hardest to keep up his spirit. Damien stays seated, sank into the chair with his arms crossed over his chest and a somber visage.

“Kyle! How do you do? It’s so nice of you to come,” Pip says, stepping around the bed with the smile he’s fighting to maintain.

“Hi,” Kyle says and it’s the only thing he can think to say. He holds up the flowers and gestures vaguely at them. “I bought… flowers. I wasn’t sure what to get...”

“How lovely.” Pip takes the flowers off Kyle’s hands. “I’m sure Thomas will appreciate them very much.”

Right. Thomas.

Kyle lowers his gaze at Thomas sleeping on the bed. An atrocious amount of tubes come and out of his body, hooking him up to the nearby machines. His nose is busted, his cheek bruised, and an eye battered. Kyle’s sure whatever the bandage around Thomas’ head is covering isn’t anything good either.

His stomach turns at the sight, and he has to take his eyes away and stares shamefully at the pristine floor instead. “Is he…”

“Oh, please don’t worry, love. He’s all right,” Pip says softly, fixing the flowers into a vase next to a guinea pig plushie. “He was quite chipper not too long ago. He was talking up a storm, wasn’t he, Damien? You missed it, that’s all. It’s the medications, I do believe. They make him rather tired.” He claps his hands together over his heart and pushes his smile bigger. “We have to stay positive. He’ll pull through and he’ll be good as new in no time.”

Kyle nods, trying to do as Pip says, but the dour gaze from Damien tells him the prognosis may not be as bright as Pip makes it out to be. He shifts his weight uncomfortably and inhales slowly to steady his nerves. “Do they know anything yet?”

“I’m afraid not yet… I’m sure the campus officers are doing all they can,” Pip explains as he gestures for Kyle to take the available chair. While Kyle is sitting down, Damien stands and offers Pip his seat in exchange. “What would have provoked someone to assault Thomas like that? He’s such a lovely boy... Such savagery.”

“Was anything… taken?” Kyle looks between the two. “Was it another mugging, maybe?”

Damien’s voice is dark and cold like his gaze. “Someone tried to kill him.”

Pip holds in a sniffle, lowering his head and wiping his eye. “You don’t know that for sure, Damien. It could’ve been…a misunderstanding. Or perhaps… he was simply at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Why would anyone…?” Kyle trails off. A metaphorical light goes off in his head. The dots light up one by one, and he slowly connects them. “Holy shit…”

“... Are you well, dear? You’re turning pale,” Pip asks then glances over at Damien. “Damien is being a bit dramatic. You shouldn’t take what he says to heart.”

“Did Thomas say anything… about any threat he received?” Kyle asks quickly. “Or feeling like he was being followed? Did he act any differently in the last few days?”

Pip shakes his head then looks to Damien, who gives the same reply. “Not that I’m aware of… He was a bit more quiet than usual but Thomas is not the kind who likes attention on himself, you know. Even if something did happen... I don’t think he would’ve said anything. He would’ve thought himself a bother if he did.”

Kyle nods and takes out a slow breath to command his heart to stop pounding so loud. Even if there is no proof of it, he’s sure Thomas is here for the same reason as why he received the message. That the same people did this. Which only means one thing for him.

He fucking is next.

“Why?”

“Excuse me?” Kyle brings his head up to meet Damien’s quizzing glare.

“Those were some really specific questions. You know something we don’t?” Damien asks, moving off the wall he’s been leaning against and coming menacingly forward. He might have gotten up all in Kyle’s face if Pip didn’t put a hand on his arm and keep him at bay.

“I don’t know any more than you do,” Kyle says easily because it's the truth. “I’m just trying to put the pieces together. If he has any enemy, that’s where we should probably start.”

“Thomas doesn’t have enemies,” Pip says, frowning. “I don’t understand what you are both on about.”

Kyle keeps his voice as normal as he can manage. No point in riling up the emotions any more than they already are. “It’s all speculations. It could be just like you said… but if anything comes to mind… anything he says that’s weird, just make a note of it. It could be helpful later.”

Pip nods and rests his eyes on Thomas. “Poor dear… I’m sure he didn’t mean to get caught up in troubles. Who would want to hurt him?”

Kyle doesn’t tell Pip that Thomas is just a victim in something larger than himself. Larger than the both of them. Whatever it is, whoever it is coming for them, Kyle has no fucking clue how he’s going to get ready for it. He stays for another fifteen minutes or so, making small talk with Pip with Damien listening in on like the NSA.

When he makes his leave, Pip walks him to the door and says, “Take care, dearie… If you need anything, we’re here.”

Kyle smiles probably the first genuine smile he’s been able to make in the few past days. “Thank you, Pip. The same goes to you. And… you too, Damien.”

Something in Damien’s smirk tells him that Damien can manage just fine and it’ll be a cold day in hell before anything bad happens to Pip. It’s a comfort he clings onto as he heads back to school.

With his gloved hand gripping around his key in his coat’s pocket, Kyle walks through the front doors and makes a turn toward his room. He never thought he would entertain this thought, but he really hopes Eric is in because he can’t stand being alone right now. Even if the only company he can find is in the form of the fart-eating racist fuckhole, he will gladly take it.

By some inexplicable but blessed (?) twist of fate, the company that finds him is not Eric Cartman. It’s Craig Tucker coming down the stairs and stopping at the last step. The height difference between them is accentuated with their current position. Craig stares down at him, with his hands in his pockets and a face as expressive as a wooden plank.

“Hey dude,” Kyle says with a meek wave, coming away from the direction of his room and moving toward the stairs. “... Did you hear about Thomas?”

“Yes.” If Craig’s afflicted in any way by Thomas’ situation, he sure does a damn good job hiding it. There isn’t even a glint of emotion in his expression. Not expanding on his thoughts or giving any indication that he isn’t an unfeeling asshole, he turns around and says, “Come with me.”

Kyle blinks. He clearly must have misheard. But when Craig pauses a few steps up and looks back at him, wordlessly questioning why he isn’t following, Kyle paces forward and treads up to the second floor behind him. He tastes the unease on his tongue as he walks down the hall leading to Craig and Token’s room.

“Uh - where are we going?” Kyle asks even though the answer is obvious. “What’s going on?”

“There is someone who wants to see you,” Craig says without looking at Kyle as he unlocks his room and that’s all he says. He opens his door and waits for Kyle to go in.

With hesitant steps, Kyle walks into the unfamiliar room. It’s the first time he’s ever been in Craig’s room. It’s something he honestly would’ve never expected to happen. Then again, there have been shit tons of stuff happening lately that he never expected to so he really shouldn’t be surprised by anything anymore.

Like finding out that the someone Craig said wanted to see him is Mysterion. Or that Craig just leaves, closing the door behind him without offering any explanation. He hears Craig leaning on the other side, possibly to guard them from busybodies.

“What the fuck” doesn’t even cover the turmoil Kyle feels right now. He takes in a loud breath and finds a comfortable stance, while Mysterion sits on Craig’s bed (presumably, judging by the Red Racer poster above it) and faces forward to stare at Token’s wall.

“I understand what you meant now. When you said I could ruin what I take into my own hands,” Mysterion says, his gaze still fixed on ahead. “You warned me but I was too proud. I didn’t listen.”

Kyle sighs and shakes his head. “You didn’t know it was going to come to this.”

“But I should have.” Mysterion turns his head at last. His eyes, even behind the mask, are worn out and gleaming with guilt. Kyle thinks they look oddly familiar, but he can’t quite put his finger on it. “This is my fault.”

“So what are you going to do about it?” Kyle asks, cocking his head and crossing an arm over his chest. He gestures with his other hand as he speaks, “Did you come here to mope or do you have a course of action?”

Mysterion quiets down. “I’m not sure if there is anything I can do...”

“Oh, hell no.” Kyle comes forward and furrows his brows. “There are psychopaths out there who are after people you saved. They want to kill us!”

“No, I don’t think murder is their end goal,” Mysterion says like it’s supposed to offer any solace. “They’re using you to send me a message.”

“That is just fucking great,” Kyle laughs, throwing a hand in the air. “Then? Are you really going to sit here on your ass and tell me you don’t know what the fuck to do? You brought us into this. You have to get us out.”

“How can I? I started out thinking I could help people. I thought I could make a difference. Now three people are in the hospital because of me,” Mysterion says, his voice trembling like his fists. “Three. That I know of.”

“And there will be more,” Kyle says, pointing at himself. He closes the distance between them, towering over the seated Mysterion. “Look, if you came here thinking I’m going to feel sorry for you or make you feel better or whatever the fuck you’re looking for, you came to the wrong house.” He leans forward, his voice cold as steel, as he points a finger at Mysterion’s face. “I’m not going to pity you. This is not about losing a laptop or getting a fucking car stolen anymore, okay? This is the big boys league. You wanted to play? Well, game fucking on, man.”

Mysterion doesn’t break eye contact as he gets up, forcing Kyle to back up so their heads don’t collide. “You don’t think I know that? I know I made a mistake. I want to fix it but this is bigger than me. Who are these people? How many are there? What are they after? I don’t even know where to start!”

“Then figure it out! Don’t make excuses!” Kyle inhales sharply then softens and steps back to give Mysterion space. “You’re a superhero, for fuck’s sake.”

“I thought you didn’t think I was one,” Mysterion scoffs. “I thought you said I was doing something questionable.”

Kyle draws out a long sigh, pressing his fingers to his nose bridge to collect his thoughts. “I think you became one by coming here today,” he says. “It’s the path you choose that makes you a hero, not the powers you’re given. Don’t run from this. You can’t. They... whoever the fuck they are - they win if you do.”

“They still might even if I don’t,” Mysterion says with downcast eyes. “I’m just one person.”

“You aren’t alone,” Kyle says, bolder than he thought he could be. “You got us. You have... the Resistance. We’ll help. We’ll fight. When people hear about this, they aren’t going to stand by and do nothing.”

Mysterion chuckles. It’s soft. It’s tired. It slaps Kyle in the face that this masked vigilante hero adored by the masses is just a damn kid not older than himself. “I think dragging more people into this clusterfuck is the last thing we should do.”

Kyle exhales and nods, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah… I guess you’re right. I kind of got caught up in the moment but the point still stands. We fight back. Together.”

“I’ll do everything I can to turn this around. … Thank you for pulling my head out of my ass… and thank you for the faith in me.” Mysterion reaches out and puts his hand on Kyle’s shoulder. A fire is burning in his eyes. “I’m sorry about this. I really am. This was never my intention.”

“By the time this is over, you would’ve saved my life twice,” Kyle says with a weak smile. “You don’t owe me an apology for that.”

“I will protect you, Kyle. It’s a promise.”

Kyle nods and gingerly pats Mysterion’s hand. “Yeah, well, go get them… and be safe out there.”

Mysterion leaves through the window and makes the jump to the ground level. Kyle watches him vanish out of sight then sighs into the cold air. An unease almost immediately drags his heart to the pit of his stomach. Despite everything they said, it’s all just talk at the end of the day. It doesn’t change that he has a target on his back. He can die. He can seriously die.

He breathes in through his nose then blows it out through his mouth. It does nothing to still his trembling body as he opens the door to let himself out. As he guessed, Craig is leaning against the wall and guarding the room.

“... So… are you his sidekick? Kyle asks.

“No,” Craig says as he gets up. He slips around Kyle to get to his room. “I’m his friend.”

“Ah.” Kyle watches the door close in his face. Friends. He has a feeling he’s going to need a lot of those.

* * *

As it turns out, it’s actually not possible to have someone keep him company 24/7. Even taking up Stan and Kenny’s offer with the occasional assist from Craig, Kyle has moments throughout the day when he has to be by himself. He keeps to the crowd as much as possible during those gaps, but not too closely that someone can stab him with a knife in the hustle and bustle then disappear without a trace. It’s wearing down on him, living his life in fear of everyone around him.

By the time he gets out of class and makes it back to the dorm in one piece, he’s looking forward to shutting in for the rest of the night for peace and quiet. The video game and the frantic shouting of its players blasting from his lounge used to be a nuisance to him, but now it’s a choir of vocal safety. Even if he wishes they can tone it down a little.

It looks like they’re playing a new installment of Call of Duty, the gang’s favorite series. Clyde is on one of the controller, sitting on the couch cross-legged and gritting his teeth, while Stan sits on the floor in front of him. Kevin is sandwiched between Clyde and Token and is spilling the bowl of popcorn more than eating it while he cheers on.

Kyle walks further in and looks at the guy on the other controller, who was previously partially hidden by Stan from where he was standing.

And really. Really. When will he learn not to be surprised by anything anymore?

“... Ike?” Kyle says, his eyes honing in on his little brother sitting on the floor. The name sounds ridiculous on his tongue. “... Ike!?”

“Yeah, yeah, hold on, Kyle,” Ike mumbles without taking his eyes off the screen. “I’m this close to owning Clyde.”

“You’re five years too youn - Aww fuck! Fuck!” Clyde falls backward and thrashes his arms. He sinks into the couch and huffs. “Guys, let’s play something else. I’m bored.”

“You’re just mad you keep losing to a 14-year-old,” Token says, gesturing for the controller. “All right, little guy, I’m gonna show you what’s up.”

“Ike! What are you -” Kyle stomps forward, blocking the TV (much to the protest of Token and Clyde). Knowing that the guys are looking at him, he lowers his voice. “Ike, can you come with me please? I want to talk to you.”

Begrudgingly, Ike gets up, abandoning the controller that Kevin quickly claims. Stan turns his head, and Kyle tries to assure him with a good-natured smile to show that he’s absolutely not about to lose his shit. He ushers Ike into his room, thankful that Eric isn’t here, and points to his bed for Ike to sit down.

Ike bounces on the bed and ooh’s and ahh’s at the various furniture in the room. “This is a lot crappier than the pictures they put on their website. Ew, what is that stain up there?”

Kyle drops his bag on the floor and crosses his arms over his chest. “What are you doing here? I thought Mom said you’re at a training camp for mathletes.”

“She thinks.... I’m there,” Ike says slyly. “Filmore is sending me pics and I’ll send them to Mom. She’ll never know.”

Kyle scoffs, furrowing his brows. “Are you out of your damn mind? It’s _Mom_. She’s going to know and she’s going to be so pissed. How the hell did you even get here?”

“I took a bus. It was a really long ride. My butt was killing me the whole time and they only stopped twice for potty breaks.”

“Ike!” Kyle hisses. He never likes to play the mean big brother but it looks like he has to pull out all the stops today. “You need to go back. Right now.”

Ike lowers his head, his lips quiver. In the next seconds, he’s sobbing quietly on Kyle’s bed. Kyle’s heart snaps in half. He groans and squeezes his eyes shut for a moment before he scoots over and sits down next to Ike. He puts his arm around Ike and pulls him into his embrace, running a hand up and down to soothe his little brother.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry. It’s okay. Shh. Shh. Ike, what’s going on with you?”

“I can’t take it,” Ike cries into Kyle’s chest. “All she cares about is mathletes and fucking SAT classes and Ike, you have to sign up for FBLA. Ike, take piano lessons. Ike, take tennis lessons. Ike, you need to speak four fucking languages. It’s fucking driving me crazy! She doesn’t even treat me like her son. I’m, like, a - a, a way for her to get a Harvard Mom bumper sticker! That’s it!”

Kyle cringes. He knows all too well how that feels, and he knows it’s his fault their mom is putting so much pressure on Ike. If he had gotten into an Ivy League school like his mom wanted, Ike wouldn’t be expected to carry so much burden on his shoulders. He dips his head, pressing his lips to the top of Ike’s head.

“You know that’s not true,” Kyle says as he pulls back to look at Ike. “She just wants you to have a good future and be successful.”

“Why can’t she just want me to be happy?”

“She wants that, too. She’s your mother, Ike.” Kyle sighs and ruffles Ike’s hair. “She worries about us and yeah, she doesn’t always know how to show it through the right way, but don’t think for a second she isn’t looking out for our best interest, okay?”

Ike sniffles and looks away, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “I want her to leave me alone.”

“Look, you’re a smart kid. You know you made a wrong move here,” Kyle says, nudging Ike’s cheek with his knuckles. “But lucky for you, you have an awesome brother so I’ll help you this time. You can’t pull something like this again, okay, Ike? Next time you have a problem, you don’t run from it. You face it head-on and you deal with it. Do you understand me?”

“You know you’re only four years older than me, right?” Ike rolls his eyes but a hint of a smile is showing. “Don’t talk to me like I’m still a baby.”

“Maybe when you stop acting like a kindergartener, I’ll stop treating you as one.” Kyle wraps his arm around Ike and pulls him into another hug. Then he gives him a noogie. “You can spend the night then first thing tomorrow morning, you’re on the first bus home and you’re going to apologize to Mom and you’re going to talk it out with her.”

“Ugh. Fine. You’re such a buzz kill,” Ike says. He rubs his eyes and takes a sharp inhale. “Can I go outside and play with your friends now?”

“All right, but go easy on them.” Kyle pats Ike on the back with a smile. “They have very fragile ego.”

“Oh, I know. I thought Clyde was gonna cry. That would’ve been so awesome!”

Ike skitters back out to join the gang with Kyle following shortly after. It’s nice to be able to forget someone’s trying to kill him for a few moments. After a couple of rounds with Ike earning him ten dollars off Stan on a bet, the gang has a quick dinner before turning in for the night. To be more accurate, it’s actually only Ike and Kyle who are calling it a night, with Kyle insisting that it’s past Ike’s bedtime and Ike countering that he’s way too old to even have a bedtime.

“No,” Eric says as Kyle scoots Ike into the room. “I will not have a Canadian in my room.”

Kyle can’t even spare the strength to acknowledge Eric’s absurdity. He opens his drawer to try to find something for Ike to sleep in. In the meantime, Ike scutters to Eric’s night table, where Amber (the poop) is resting on a doll bed.

“Whoa, what is this?” Ike says, hovering curiously next to Amber.

“‘ey, ‘ey, don’t touch Amber!” Eric shouts. “Uh, Kahl, can you please tell _it_ that it’s rude to touch other people’s stuff?”

Ike raises his brow and starts poking Amber with his finger. “My name is Ike.”

“Yeah… I don’t speak Justin Bieber so, Kahl, could you please?” Eric gestures angrily at Ike with disgust. “Kahl! It’s - doing stuff to Amber. Make him stop!”

“Who’s Amber?”

“Ike, did you touch - Okay, you need to wash your hands.” Kyle points to the bathroom. “Go.”

“Why? It’s not even real,” Ike says, poking the bow on Amber’s head.

“Stop touching Amber, you sick little shit,” Eric says and swats Ike’s hand.

“Did you just fucking hit my brother?” Kyle gets in front of Eric with his arms crossed.

“I told it to stop.” Eric leans forward, not backing off from Kyle’s threat. “It was getting its dirty maple syrup hands all over her.”

“You even think about doing that again and you’re going to have say goodbye to both your girlfriends,” Kyle warns. He closes the last inches of space between them, so close he can smell the kosher ham Eric had for dinner.

“Everything cool?” Stan asks, peeking in from the hallway. “I heard verbal threats.”

“Perfect timing, Stan. Could you, uh, please get the RA? I have to report that we have an unauthorized visitor here. Possibly an illegal immigrant.”

“Undocumented,” Stan corrects. “And I’m not gonna do that. What the hell’s going on?”

“Fatass won’t let me sleep here because I’m Canadian,” Ike sums up as he turns around with Amber in his hands.

“‘ey, who are you calling a fatass, you flappy-headed brat?!”

“Ike! Put that down,” Kyle says and points once again at the bathroom. While Ike reluctantly puts down Amber and goes to the bathroom to wash his hands, Kyle turns to Eric. “And what the fuck did you call my brother?”

“Okay! Okay, break it up.” Stan calls out as he walks in, holding out both hands to stop Kyle and Eric from going at it any further. He then gestures at his own room and says, “Ike can stay in my room, all right? I don’t mind. Kyle, you can too, and I’ll just crash upstairs with Craig or whoever has a spare bed now. I can’t keep track who’s sleeping where anymore.”

“No, Stan, no, you don’t have to do that,” Kyle says with a vehement shake of his head. “Ike and I are staying here, in my room, tonight. If you have a problem with that, Cartman, you can talk to my fist up your ass.”

“Uh, no, thank you, Kahl. I’m not into fisting and you aren’t really my type,” Eric says with a scoff. “I guess you don’t get care if your brother gets deported… or hmm... if your mother finds out?”

Kyle inhales sharply and bites into his lip. “You fucking asshole…”

“I’m sure Mrs. Broflovski would be devastated if she heard about what her baby Ike-y did.”  
Stan comes forward and puts a hand on Kyle. “C’mon, dude, just take my room. It’s cool. It’s not worth it.”

Kyle exhales, staring at the nauseous smile on Eric’s face. He plucks his pillow off and wonders how long it’ll take to smother Eric to death with it. “It’s not over, Cartman.”

“Oh, I think it is.” Eric waves both of them off. “Shoo, shoo, I have to disinfect and get rid of all the Canuck germs. God, I can feel the Celine Dion creeping on me.”

With Ike in tow, Kyle follows Stan to his room and instructs Ike to get in bed and do not touch anything for fuck’s sake. Stan grabs a few of his things then leaves to locate an empty bed for the night. Kyle sits on the edge of Stan’s bed, slightly bitter than his brother got to sleep in there before he did, but that’s a thought he keeps to himself.

“Dude, Kyle, I’m 14. You don’t need to tuck me in,” Ike grumbles, rolling out of Kyle’s attempt to wrap the sheets around him.

“No, you’re getting tucked in and then you’re getting a lullaby or a bedtime story, your choice, and finally you’re getting a good night’s kiss.”

“Gross!” Ike squeezes his eyes close and fakes a loud snoring. “You can’t do that if I’m already asleep. ZZZ-zzzz-hngGGggh-Ppbhww- zZZzzzZZ.”

Kyle snorts and pokes Ike’s side to make him stutter with a laugh. “Good night, you little nerd.”

Ike peeps open an eye, pulling the sheet up to his chin as he settles in. “Is Stan your boyfriend?”

It’s Kyle’s turn to stutter. He clears his throat that doesn’t need clearing and stares embarrassingly at Clyde’s wall. “What the hell makes you say that?”

“Is he?” Ike insists, batting his eyes coyly. “You can tell me. I think he likes you...”

“He doesn’t like -- He’s not my - We are not together and you’re being a nosy brat,” Kyle says and smacks Ike on the head. “Go to bed. You have to get up early tomorrow.”

“Pshh, fine, loser. If you like him too, you should say something...” Ike mumbles then yawns for real. He nuzzles into the pillow, his breathing evening out.

Kyle lingers a moment before he turns his head at Stan’s presence. He slips out of the room quietly and meets Stan in the hallway.

“He doing okay?” Stan asks.

“Yeah, he’s fine. Hey, thank you so much for doing this. I’m really sorry,” Kyle says, carding his hair through tangled curls. “If Cartman isn’t such a fucking asshole… Ugh, look, I’ll make it up to you.”

“Don’t even worry about it. Happy to help.” Stan shrugs. “Ike’s a great kid. Imagine how I would’ve turned out if I had a brother like him instead of Shelly.”

Kyle chuckles and raises his brow. “I think you turned out pretty okay the way you did.”

“You think so?” Stan frowns. “I got so many issues I need to work through though. I’m a mess.”

“Oh yes, I can see what a hot mess you are.” Kyle lowers his head after he registers the particular choice of adjective he used there. “I - uh, I’ll get you coffee tomorrow, or I can buy you lunch… dinner. Brunch. Whatever you prefer. I owe you a big one.”

“Kyle,” Stan says with a laugh so soft it makes Kyle melt. And when he puts his hand on Kyle’s arm, Kyle doesn’t know how he’s still able to stand on his feet. “I’m serious… Don’t worry about it. I got your back, remember? You don’t have to pay back me for anything. I wanted to do this.”

“... Thank you, Stan. I don’t - I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. I’m here for you. Anything you need.”

Kyle presses the back of his head against the wall as he tilts up his head. He doesn’t know if he’s the one moving forward, or if it’s Stan that’s coming closer. All he knows is that when Stan drags his hand down the length of his arm until their fingers are lining up, he’s closing his eyes, agog for whatever’s coming his way.

He feel Stan’s breath hovering in front of his lips as he rests his free hand on Stan’s elbow. He feels the tip of Stan’s callused thumb smoothing over his chin to move his head into the proper position. He swallows his heart and forces it back to its place. Their noses touch first.

Then he squeezes Stan by the elbow and turns his head to duck away from the kiss. “I - uh - I can’t -“

“Shit. I’m sorry,” Stan says as he moves back like he’s been electrocuted. He shuffles backward, hands awkwardly not knowing where to stay. “I’m sorry - I thought you were - Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“No - no, it’s not you, Stan. I swear.” Kyle presses his lips into a line then rubs his hand over his eyes. “It’s just... It’s just a really weird time for me right now. And it’s been a really fucking long day. A long week, ha, actually, and I just - I’m sorry I just…” He exhales, his breath coming out shakingly, knowing that he might have blown his one chance with Stan. “I really… _really_ like you, Stan. But this is just… not a good time for me and I don’t… I don’t want you to... I guess, come into this when I’m not… I’m not at my best.”

“I get it…” Stan nods slowly and mutters a sigh under his breath that betrays his words. “Well… Whenever you’re ready… I guess we’ll take it from there..”

“I’d… really like that. I’m sorry, Stan...”

Stan smiles and it feels like a thousand needles are piercing through his chest. He keeps his head down when he walks away after bidding a quiet good night. Kyle bangs the back of his head against the wall and cups his face in his hands. He takes five breathes and wonders if he turns on the shower, will the rushing water cover his scream? He uses another breath to calm himself then heads back to his room for the night.

A breeze hits him first, chilling him more so than the coldness brewing inside him. He looks at the open window, very sure that it was definitely not open when he left. Then he turns to the unmade bed and stares at the sheets cluttered haphazardly on the floor.

The needles have now full-on punctured his heart, drowning his insides with his own blood.

Ike is gone.


	8. Heroism and Villainy 101

_Students explore the age-old dynamics between heroes and villains and examine the various reasons why a hero may end up a villain, or worse yet, the damsel in distress if they live long enough._

* * *

It’s not as cold as it feels, but Kyle shudders in the night like he’s swimming through icy water. His voice is hoarse from shouting Ike’s name on repeat across the campus like a game glitch. The school is only so big, but there are too many places for a 14-year-old to hide. A thought he doesn’t even want to materialize in his head keeps breaching through the hold he placed on himself.

What if the reason he hasn’t been able to find Ike is because someone beat him to it? What if someone took Ike? What if they did it because of him?

“IKE!”

His screams fall on uncaring ears. Footsteps move away from him in different directions. Eyes who don’t know his panic give him uninterested stare then abandon him to his search without offering any help or solace. He goes on alone, despite Stan calling his name and asking him to wait from seemingly too far away.

He runs up the flight of stone stairs toward the botanic garden, tucked away in a far corner of the campus. It’s where he would go if he wanted to run away. He could be hidden amongst trees and flowers that don’t judge him for his weakness, that don’t criticize him for his failure.

“IKE!”

Hard boots crush the layer of light frost on the garden ground. Kyle turns, hoping for Ike and expecting Stan. The person that greets him with a tense frown is neither.

“What happened? You were so fucking careful. Always hiding behind someone's skirt. I gotta say, it’s kinda disappointing.”

Kyle backs up, his foot missing the edge of a step. He stumbles, a hand shooting out to grab onto the railing, then regains his composure. He backs up two more steps, eyes fixed on the man and the switchblade he plays like a toy, and a not a deadly weapon.

“Don't fucking run, Kyle. It'll make it worse. Just come. Quietly. It's a give-and-take. I'll make this easy on you, if you make it easy on me. We got a deal?”

It’s true. In his desperation, he hasn’t forgotten completely about his own safety. It was almost a relief not remembering that someone - or maybe more than one someone is actively looking to hurt him. It was a bad move, but not that it matters right now. Ike is more important.

“Where the hell is Ike?” Kyle cries, taking a bold step forward. “What did you do to him?”

“Woah, hey, let’s make one thing fucking clear. Whoever this Ike is, he’s not on my list.” The man points at him, furrowing his brows even further. “You are. So if I were you, I’d be more worried about where this bad boy-” He pops the switchblade open, its blade a gleaming threat. “-is going to end up in you.”

Kyle draws a sharp breath and retracts his steps again. Stall him, he thinks. Stall him and find the chance to run. “... Who are you? Who _sent_ you?”

“The name’s Trent. Trent Boyett,” the man says. “We thought three people were enough to drive him out, but I guess we really have to draw him a fucking picture.” He moves two steps, and Kyle backs up two steps. “Where are you thinking? Maybe across your forehead? Stomach? Make it real easy to read. Come out, come out, Mystery Boy, wherever you are.”

Kyle makes a mental note to learn self defense. He takes the last step and ends up on flat ground. Trent is, maybe, four, five steps below him, casually stalking up like a lion hunting its prey.

“You know what you’re doing isn’t right, don’t you?” Kyle asks. “You don’t have to do this. You can make a better choice.”

Trent sighs, exasperated, and holds up his hand. “Spare me the bullshit. Look, I’m not doing it this because I’m a fucking sadist and I like hurting people. No, no, I’m doing this because this is about getting even, all right? Your boy hurt my boy, I gotta make him pay. It’s fucking about honor. It’s the way things work. I didn’t make the rules.”

“But since you don’t know where or who he is, you’re using us to lure him out,” Kyle says with a patronizing nod. “And hurting innocent people does not, in any way, violate your honor code, does it? That sounds like a tragically flawed system.”

“Ha.” Trent rubs his nose and sniffles. His face hardens with a bemused smirk. “You know when I was growing up, I used to watch lots of movies. Action, thrillers, you know the sort. And now, these movies, they always had a bad guy, right? My problem with them is, these jokers, they always going on and on with a long ass speech when they finally have what they want right in front of them. Telling a - a fucking sob story. How they’re doing bad shit ‘cause their mama didn’t feed them milk from their titties. I always thought... c’mon, just get on with it. You got the guy right now at your mercy. Word’s cheap. It’s the body count that matters.”

“That’s a great story. Thank you for sharing,” Kyle says slowly, his eyes darting behind Trent.  
“Do you think it’s ironic you’re doing the same thing though?”

“Yeah, well, this ain’t a movie,” Trent says, tightening his grip on the knife as he picks up speed. “C’mon, time’s a-wasting.”

Kyle feints a step back, acting as if he’s going to make a run for it. Instead, as Trent is coming up to the landing, he charges full speed forward and tries to knock Trent back down the stairs. Maybe he’s too obvious. Maybe he’s just too slow. Trent dodges out of the way with ease and a sneer. Of course, he will realize his own folly a few seconds later when Kyle skips down the steps and runs like hell.

“C’mon, Kyle. I said, don’t run.”

Kyle jumps down the flight of stairs. What would he give to pretend he's a kid showing off again and not a grown person fleeing from a knife-wielding maniac? He reaches the last landing and skids to turn into the parking lot. It's still a good, a very good distance between him and safety. His eyes widen as a figure comes closer into his view. His heart skips out of beat and damn nearly leaps out of his mouth.

“Hey, Kyle! There you are! I've been looking---”

“Stan!” It's so hard to run and scream on the same breath. He falls right into Stan then tugs on him as he breaks back into motion. “Run!”

Stan, bless his soul, doesn’t say anything or ask any question. He just holds Kyle’s hand and runs with him in tow.

“The more you run, the worse it’ll be for you!”

It’s easy for Stan. Kyle, on the other hand, is working double time to keep his lungs and legs working. He doesn’t need to turn his head; he can feel Trent closing in. Each passing second, the distance between them get smaller and smaller. It’s not even something he has to wonder; he knows for a fact that Stan can get away if he just ditches him.

He wiggles his hand and tries to detach from Stan. There is no reason why he should drag Stan down with him. But Stan just grips his hand tighter and hisses a stern “No” and keeps going with him.

“I’m gonna fucking get you!” Trent shouts from behind them, sounding so terrifyingly close.

Before Kyle can tell him no, before Kyle can stop him, Stan is the one who breaks away and spins around. The punch doesn’t land. Trent dodges out of the way and slams a hard elbow down on Stan’s back.

“Fuck!” Stan cries out in pain and drops to his knees.

Trent doesn't give Stan the chance to recoup. Kyle really wishes he'd go back to his evil gloating so Stan can get back up and he can think clearly to formulate a strategy. Trent stomps on Stan’s back and gives him another two kicks to make sure he stays down.

“Stop! Stop it!” Kyle shrieks. He comes forward but doesn't engage Trent. It’s pointless; the guy is bigger and tougher than he is. He clumsily and angrily tears open his jacket instead, holding it open to reveal the black shirt he wears underneath. “Go! Do it! Write it right here! Send whatever message you want! Then leave us the fuck alone!”

Trent flicks open his switchblade with a pleased nod. “That's more like it. I thought you was gonna stand there and not do shit. I knew there was something about you I liked.” He points to Stan on the ground. “Don't worry about a thing. I got my honor. He's done nothing to me so I won't do nothing to him. Long as he be a good little boy and stay outta this.”

“Fuck you, you bag of dicks!” Stan says, struggling onto his knees.

“Now this is gonna hurt,” Trent goes on without acknowledging Stan. “But you struggle less, it hurts less.” Pointing the tip of the blade at Kyle, he warns, “No trick. You fuck with me, you and your boyfriend here aren't gonna get to hold hands and watch the sun rise in the morning. The boss don't want no one dead, but I was never good at listening.”

“Can you - just get on with it?” Kyle groans, stomping an impatient foot. “I thought you didn’t like long speeches.”

Trent scoffs and hardens his face with menace. He comes forward, his grip tightening around the knife. Kyle holds his breath and braces for what to come next. Behind Trent, Stan scrambles onto his feet and in a quick rush, tackles Trent to the ground.

In the empty parking lot, there's no one who will come to their rescue. So Kyle does the only thing he can. He sprints in and stamps on Trent’s hand over and over. As Trent screeches and smashes Stan’s nose with a backward elbow thrust, as the frost on the ground turns a somber red, as the night fills with angry shouts and pained grunts, he bruises Trent's knuckles until finally - at long fucking last - he gets a hold of the switchblade.

The knife feels heavy in his hand, heavier than it actually is. He swings his foot and kicks Trent in the jaw. A splat of spit and blood taints his shoe, and he winces from the impact more than Trent did.

“Stan! Let’s go!” He yanks Stan off Trent and pulls him back. The point isn’t to fight. The point is to run.

“... Not bad, Kyle,” Trent mutters, rubbing his jaw with the back of his hand. He takes a look at the blood on his finger from his cut lip and laughs. “Not fucking bad. You got me good. But you know what this means, don't you? You're a fucking smart kid. You know what you went and done.”

“It didn't have to be like this,” Kyle says slowly to hide the tremor in his voice. “It still doesn’t have to be like this. I asked you to reconsider. I offered you a way out. You can walk away from this.”

“Right, right, my bad. I’m walking.” Trent throws his hand up after wiping it against his pants. “But you see, what happens now is you’ve gone and made it personal. This ain’t about Mystery Boy no more. This is you and fucking me, Kyle. You and me.” He smirks and backs up to his exit. “Next time I see you, you’re dead.”

“Keep the fuck away from Kyle,” Stan shouts after Trent’s retreating figure. “Jesus - What the fuck was that about?”

Kyle stares down at the knife in his hands, holding onto it like his life depends on it, and takes a slow breath. Then another one. Then one more. His heartbeats are ringing like thunder in his ears, and he can smell the blood on his shoe. He parts his mouth and gasps for air, as if someone has punched him in the ribs and knock his lungs out of commission.

“Hey… hey, you okay, Kyle?” Stan murmurs, putting a hand on Kyle’s forearm.

Kyle looks at Stan and swallows a lump in his throat. He grimaces at the bloody flakes on Stan’s upper lip. He reaches up, his hand hovering as if afraid he’ll get shocked if he touches Stan. “Fuck, you’re bleeding. Shit... I’m so sorry, Stan. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault!”

“It’s just a nosebleed. No big deal.” Stan takes Kyle’s hand and holds it gently. “Are you… you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” Kyle says it so quickly that it sounds fake even to himself. “It could’ve been worse. Oh God - I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all right! It’s cool! It wasn’t your fault, okay? Hey, you wanna…” Stan gestures to the knife and holds out his hand. “... you wanna give me that?”

Kyle places a lingering look on the switchblade. He folds it in and hands it over to Stan, who tucks it into his pocket. Kyle breathes through his nose then out his mouth, a hand absent-mindedly card through his ruffled hair. No matter how many times he breathes, he can’t stop his body trembling and his heart doing cartwheels. He cups his nose and mouth and breathes again.

“Kyle…” Stan says softly, stepping up after Kyle turns around to face nothing in particular. “I have zero idea what the hell that was about but… you don’t have to go through this alone, okay? I’m here. You can talk to me.”

Kyle laughs but he doesn’t mean to. He suppresses a sniffle, running a hand from his face up through his hair. He breathes out loudly again for the millionth time and looks at Stan. He whispers, shaking his head, “I don’t even know where to start…”

“You can start from the beginning and we’ll take it from there.”

Kyle lowers his head and nods twice. He blows out a huff of air, doing whatever he can to pull himself together. He doesn’t have the luxury to fall apart right now. “I will. After we find Ike, I’ll tell you everything.”

“That’s what I was gonna tell you before… all that happened.” Stan beams. “Token found him. He was hiding at the Commons. I tried calling you but I guess you don’t have your phone on you.”

Kyle bows his head. Having a weight off his shoulders gives ways to a new rush of emotions. He forces his lips and eyes to stay shut. If he didn’t, he’s afraid he’s going to break apart like a dam. Stan puts a hand on Kyle’s shoulder and Kyle just comes apart at the touch. With a shaky breath, Kyle sinks into Stan’s arms, face buried in the rough fabric of the coat, and soaks up the comfort.

Stan holds him, no comment and no judgement. Strong arms shield him from harm. Kyle can’t remember the last time he felt this safe. He can’t remember the last time he felt like - truly felt like he didn’t have to face the world alone. That there was someone who would share his burden. Someone who not just tolerates but understands his insecurities.

He finds Stan and they just had to meet at the worst possible fucking time of his life.

Stan folds in and wraps Kyle in a soothing embrace. Kyle readjusts his position until they’re perfectly fitted together like the two last puzzle pieces to finish a beautiful picture. Kyle hooks his arms under Stan’s underarms and locks him in, afraid someone will snatch all the happiness away from him.

“I’m sorry,” Kyle mumbles. “I can’t do this to you. I’m bringing you into something very bad.”

“I got your back.” Stan squeezes Kyle a little. There is no room for negotiation. “It’s not conditional. I got your back. Period.”

Kyle squeezes Stan back and lets himself relish in the tranquility for a moment longer. With the direction his life seems to be heading, he honestly can’t know if there will ever be a chance again.

It’s Stan who leans away first, pulling back to look him in the eyes with a softness that unhinges Kyle at the core. “Ready to go to talk to your brother?” Stan asks. “Hey, go easy on him, all right? He’s just a kid.”

“I thought you have my back,” Kyle teases and chuckles. It feels good. He feels tired. “I’m going to rip him a new one.”

Walking side-by-side, Kyle and Stan traverse the quiet campus back to the dorms. Stan leaves him with Ike, giving them the privacy of the room. Ike sits with his back pressed against the wall, his knees to his chest, and his feet on Stan’s sheet. Kyle has half a mind to tell him to put his damn feet on the floor and stop ruining Stan’s bed. But he doesn’t. He sits on the floor, leaning against Clyde’s bed in a mirror position. He feels small like this, like he can fit into a balloon and float onward into the sky without a care.

He looks across the way and he doesn’t see a 14-year-old teenager. He sees the tiny, blabbering infant wrapped in a blue blanket from when his parents first brought him home. He sees Ike, barely learning to walk, fumbling through their living room and trying to reach the menorah to touch the candles. He sees Ike squirming away from his mom, who’s trying to wipe a smudge off his cheek with her spit. He sees Ike fidgeting nervously outside the school gate, waiting for them to pick him up.

He looks across the way and he can’t grasp how Ike grew up so fast without him knowing. The more memories he tries to call up, the less he remembers. The more he thinks he still has a hold on Ike, the more he realizes they’re two strangers sharing a space.

“Well?” Ike breaks the silence, his head turned to the side and only giving Kyle a half glance.

“Well…” Kyle rubs the space between his eyes. “Do you want to explain yourself?”

“Not really.”

“That’s too bad. You’re going to have to,” Kyle says, shifting his legs around. “You know what you did was wrong, Ike. You need to owe it up to it. If you have an issue, you need to face it and work it out. Running away doesn’t solve anything. Do you feel better? Did the problem go away because you went to play Tron? I bet it didn’t. I bet you feel worse now.”

Ike throws his head back and groans. “God. Great. More speeches.”

“Excuse me?”

“You know why I ran away? Because of you! You’re my problem!” Ike sits forward. “I needed you. I needed your help but you’re so self-centered you made it about yourself! Oh, you’re an awesome brother? Oh, you’re going to save me from Mom? Give me a break, you supercilious asshole!” At Kyle’s raised brow, he adds on, “Supercilious. It’s an SAT word. It means you have a stick so far up your ass I’m surprised you can even sit.”

“Don’t take that tone with me,” Kyle says but the sternness doesn’t convey in his tired voice. “I’m your older brother. You need to be more respectful.”

“Respect is earned, Kyle. You can’t be that vacuous. Another SAT word. It means---”

“I know what vacuous means. I took the same SAT.” Kyle sits forward as well. “I don’t know what you’re going on about. I’ve always been supportive of you! Mom’s going to kill you when she finds out you lied to her and ran away. I was going to help fix this mess you made!”

“There you go again! You! You! You! It’s always about you! I’m not the mess!” Ike shouts. “The mess is Mom and her unachievable expectations. Fix that. Not me!” Ike rubs his stinging eyes but he only acknowledges his tears with a stiff sniffle. “I came to you, because you’re my brother, because I thought you were going to help _me_. But all you care about is looking good in front of Mom. You didn’t - You weren’t even going to help. You were just going to throw me back to the wolves and that was it. Well, guess what? You can drag me home kicking and screaming, and it won’t change a thing! I’ll run again. The second I can! And you won’t find me next time.”

Kyle’s lips quiver. His gaze is fixed on Ike. It’s hard to breathe; his nose is clogged up with snot and his lungs are drowning in guilt and fear. “I - I‘m sorry, Ike…” He lowers his head with a loud sniffle. “You’re right… I haven’t been fair to you. I didn’t listen. Please don’t leave...”

Ike buries his face into his knees, hugging himself tightly on Stan’s bed.

“I guess… you grew up so fast and without me. I mean when was the last time we talked? Actually talked, like we used to? I don’t even know who Filmore is. I thought… I thought you didn’t need me anymore.”

“You’re my brother,” Ike mumbles into his knees, “and I hate you for making me say this out loud… I’m always going to need you.”

“And I’m sorry I haven't been there.” Kyle scoots until he’s leaning against Stan’s bed instead. He taps Ike’s knee. “We’ll go home together tomorrow, okay? We’ll talk to Mom. We’ll bring Dad in. We’ll figure this out together, as a family. I don’t want you to ever feel like you can’t talk to any of us. I want to be there, for you again, if you give me a second chance.”

“You have to earn it.”

“I will,” Kyle says with a firm nod. “I’ll earn your trust back. And your respect.”

Ike lifts his head. “... Do we have to hug now?”

“We can, if you want,” Kyle chuckles, knocking Ike by the knee. “I’d have to get up though, and don’t take it the wrong way, I really don’t want to move.”

Ike scoffs and untangles his arms and limbs. He scoots forward and hugs Kyle from the bed as much as the angle will allow. “I’m sorry I ran away. Twice.”

“Well, don’t make a habit of it, okay? I’m getting too old to play hide and seek with you,” Kyle says, turning his head and pressing it against Ike’s face. “You are so bad at hide and seek. You always hid in the same spot.”

“Because that’s where I know you’d find me.” Ike moves away and flops unceremoniously on the bed. He draws his knees up a little to get comfortable and sighs into the pillow.

Kyle gets up, his body burning its last fuel. He tucks Ike in and ruffles Ike’s hair for good measure. He lingers a moment, watching until Ike’s breathing steadies out and he’s asleep for real this time. To think that he could’ve lost Ike forever leaves a sour taste in his mouth. He runs a hand over Ike’s arm, as if to make sure he’s really there and not a figment of his exasperated imagination.

Quietly, he flips off the light and keeps the door open. He finds Stan on the lounge, sitting on the couch with a half-finished beer and a bandage over his nose. He takes a seat, rejecting the offer for a beer, and stifles something between a yawn and a sigh. It’s so tempting to close his eyes and call tonight a nightmare he never wants to remember. But he owe Stan an explanation, and after what he went through, Stan deserves to know if his life's in danger as well.

“It started about a month ago…” Kyle tells Stan everything that’s led up to tonight. He tells Stan about the mugging and Jimmy Valmer. He talks about Mysterion and Gregory and the Resistance. He talks about Thomas still in the hospital (but recovering quickly, thank you, God.) The only thing he leaves out is Craig’s involvement; that’s something Craig should decide if he wants to reveal or not. By the end of it, the story sounds like a poorly written bad movie with too much drama.

“Holy shit…” Stan mutters to no one in particular. He polishes off the beer then looks Kyle in a daze.

“That about sums it up,” Kyle says lowly. “... Now you know what I meant when I said… this isn’t a good time for me. This isn’t the me I want you to know…”

Stan purses his lips then chuckles. “Are you serious? Kyle… Everything that you went through? Holy shit! Somebody else would’ve probably called it quit and left town. I don’t even know if I could pull through.” He turns, a smile gleaming with admiration. “Kyle, this you, this is you at your best right now. There’s no shame in who you are. You’re fucking awesome. Own it, dude.”

Kyle dips his head. Against his better judgement now that his emotions should be more in check, he leans onto Stan, putting his head on his shoulder, and flutters his eyes close. The calm that takes hold of him just from Stan’s presence is exhilarating.

“... You’re awesome too. I can’t believe you got into a fight for me.”

“I wasn’t gonna let him do anything to you. Hey, you think he’ll actually come after you again?”

“I don’t doubt it,” Kyle says, his chest tensing from the thought. “... But I’m not scared. I’m not going to be scared anymore.” He turns with his chin on Stan’s shoulder and glances up. “I have you.”

Stan’s smile is the sun coming out after too long and dark a night. “I’ll wait. Until you’re ready.”

Kyle smiles back and closes his eyes again. It’s a temporary comfort. The night will come, and it’s coming fast. But Kyle thinks he’ll be ready for it. Whatever the next turn, he’ll be ready.

* * *

Monday morning refreshes Kyle anew. After the weekend he had, he plays with the idea of not going to classes today more than once, but ultimately, being _him_ , he gets up bright and early ten minutes earlier than he usually do to catch a nervous Tweek, who is the only other person he knows in the hall that has the same morning class schedule.

Not so much because he wants to talk to Tweek, but because he’s still sticking to the rule of not being anywhere alone as much as he can help it. He doesn’t know if the bad guys (it sounds so ridiculous calling them that) are coming after him again, but he does know for sure that Trent is lurking in the shadows, waiting for revenge.

And not so much because Tweek himself provides good protection, but because wherever Tweek goes, one very tall and very strong Craig Tucker follows. It probably would be less manipulative if he just asks Craig nicely, but he doesn’t get the vibe that Craig has any interest in playing escort to anyone but Tweek.

He trails behind Tweek and Craig out the door. The morning air hits him with renewed energy but the distinctive smell of cigarette smoke plugs the positivity out of him. Tweek jitters nervously, muttering too loudly about getting cancer from secondhand smoke as they pass the smoker at the bottom of the steps.

Kyle stops following his unaware escorts and looks at Christophe standing with a hand in his pocket and a pleasant demeanor as usual. Christophe eyeballs Craig, who promptly flips him off without a change in expression.

“Hi - Good morning,” Kyle says, his mouth tastes bitter. “Uh - what are you doing here?”

“Licking Barney the Dinosaur’’s purple pussy,” Christophe says without missing a beat. “What does it look like?”

“It looks like… you’re waiting for me.” Kyle stiffens when the blank look Christophe gives tells him he’s correct. “... Why?”

“I’m here to…” Christophe sighs, a huff of smoke dancing upward. “... keep an eye on you.”

Kyle furrows his brows, waiting for Christophe to give more information. But Christophe offers none; he simply looks back at Kyle as if expecting Kyle to know all the answers already. “I - I’m sorry... I’m not following. Why are you keeping an eye on me?”

“You know why.” Christophe’s gaze is hard and running out of patience. He drops the smoke and grinds the fire out with his boot. Tucking both hands in his pockets because he’s either cold or he’s trying to look cool, he says, “Shall we? Your class starts in 15.”

Kyle doesn’t move. Tweek and Craig fade in with the rest of the students heading to their respective destination. He takes a step back in the opposite direction though he knows full well that Christophe is another person he can’t and shouldn’t attempt to outrun. “... Who told you to do this?” He swallows a breath as a name pops in his head. “Is this Gregory’s idea?”

Christophe scoffs and shifts his weight onto one hip. Kyle notices now how Christophe’s always slouching, as if he’s carrying a huge weight like Atlas with the world on his shoulders. He doesn’t answer Kyle’s question about Gregory. Kyle’s not surprised. “Are we going?”

Kyle takes a step forward, pauses, then another one. “I want to talk to Gregory about this.”

Christophe shrugs and keeps at Kyle’s side. “Do what you want. I don’t give a sheet.”

Kyle adjusts his bag and fixes his eyes directly in front of him. He wanted protection, yes, and between Craig and Christophe, he’s willing to bet Christophe is the better fighter if shit goes down. But he doesn’t want it like this. Not against his will. Not like he’s being _watched_.

Not like this.


	9. Advanced Freedom

_What is freedom? We just don’t know. Topics will range from technical issues (freedom of speech, privacy, and surveillance) to broader examination if we can ever be truly free._

* * *

Gregory picks up on the second ring. “Ah. Good morning, Kyle. I trust this means Christophe has located you all right.”

“I don't know what this is about, but I would really appreciate it if you leave me the hell alone.”

“I understand you're going through troubling times but let's keep this civilized, shall we? Foul language is unnecessary,” Gregory says. There is a slight pause. “We know everything, Kyle. I must say I'm surprised. I would've thought you would've mentioned… Oh how should I put it... the adventures you've had. It would've made for good dinner conversation.”

Kyle breathes through his nose, hoping that it's not audible on the other line. It could be a bluff; there's no point to fuel Gregory’s suspicion. “I’m surprise you think we’re close enough for me to share. Look. You know whatever it is that you know. Good for you. Now, leave me the hell alone.”

“You're being rude, Kyle. We’re coming to you with good intention. We always have.”

“Maybe good intention means something different in England.” Kyle shoots a glance behind him, where Christophe leans against a light pole and looks as interested as a brick. “I don't want - I don't need Christophe watching me.”

“Oh, give him a chance, won’t you? I know he can be abrasive but he grows on you. Rather quickly, actually. It's one of his merits.”

“Gregory - you're not listening. This is unnecessary. Not to mention a huge invasion of my privacy!”

“Perhaps you ought to be more grateful, Kyle,” Gregory says, his voice dipping threateningly low. “We're trying to help you. All our lives are on the verge of change. We all have to make sacrifices.”

“Oh wow, did you pick up a minor in Theater because you're great at being dramatic! Look - I appreciate it. I do,” Kyle says. “But how about you asked me next time before you do something like this? And here’s a thought - maybe we can figure out a less invasive approach than stalking me. I'm sure Christophe would appreciate it as well.”

“Oh, I don't think he minds. It was his idea, after all,” Gregory says, and Kyle can hear the smirk he can't see. “I’d love to keep chatting but I have other matters to attend.”

“Gregory, wait!”

“Do be kind to Christophe. He can be rather sensitive. Cheers, Kyle.”

Kyle shoves his phone angrily back in his pocket as the line cuts. “Ugh, fucking prick.”

Christophe steps up next to him, raising his brows mockingly. “Good talk?”

“Great talk,” Kyle answers. He lingers on the thought that it's Christophe's idea and links it together with what Kenny said previously about Christophe being supposedly interested in him. It sours his stomach. If Christophe is in fact interested, this is definitely not earning him any brownie point.

“You'll be late for class,” Christophe says after checking his watch. Kyle can't remember anyone but his dad and old professors wearing an actual watch.

Kyle keeps two paces ahead as they walk to class. He doesn't so much as glance behind him or hold the door open when he walks into the building. Snaking through the loitering students, he knows it's a pointless fantasy to imagine losing Christophe in the crowd. Still, it's one he hopelessly entertains when he takes his seat in the classroom and Christophe doesn't follow.

Instead, Christophe waits outside, giving Kyle a look that says he'll be here. Kyle looks back for a moment, wondering if Christophe really didn't have something better to do with his time than babysit. Wondering if Christophe is putting aside his own personal life for his safety instead. Wondering why he wanted to do it. What makes him so damn special and important that he deserves this man’s attention?

Kyle lowers his gaze, derailing that train of thought, and sets on getting ready for class as the TA files in. The door closes but he swears he can still feel cold worn eyes sending a tingle up his spine.

50 minutes later, Kyle is one of the first ones out the door. He doesn't know what he's expecting. A rush of disappointment comes over him, then he admittedly feels the phantom hands of relief brushing his shoulders. Christophe is exactly where they left off. His eyes, sharp and unkind as barbed wires, lock in on Kyle. There is no warmth in his gaze, yet Kyle can’t look away. They hold each other’s gaze as Christophe crosses the hallway and stands far too close.

“Uh…” Kyle parts his lips, searching for words that aren’t there.

“Kyle? Hello. Do you remember me?”

Kyle and Christophe both look. The sound of crutches hitting the tiles accompanies Jimmy Valmer’s words. “Jimmy Valmer? Junior editor for the school’s magazine? We met a while back.”

“Yes. Hi. I remember.” Even though this is only the second time he's seen Jimmy, Kyle’s exceptionally elated. “Hi! It’s nice to see you again.”

Jimmy smiles a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time. You never called me.”

“Oh! Right! I’m so sorry. I’ve been… really busy,” Kyle says, keeping a matching smille.

“S-s-so I’ve heard,” Jimmy hints. He glances over at Christophe then looks back at Kyle. “Could I possibly talk to you in private? There’s s-s-s-omething I need to tell you.”

“Of course!” Kyle turns around and gestures behind them. The classroom would probably be empty for a while longer, giving them time for whatever they need and get away from Christophe.

“That’s terrific!” Jimmy moves into the room. “I was thinking you’d say no and leave me hanging like last time.”

Kyle lets the jab slide and turns around. Unlike not too long ago, Christophe actually follows him. Kyle stops outside the door, blocking Christophe from entry. He keeps his face stern and his tone sterner. “It's a private conversation.”

Christophe says flatly, “You won’t even know I’m there.”

“I don't think -” Kyle glances past his shoulder at Jimmy in the room and clears his throat. “I would feel better if you don’t come in.”

“I don’t trust him,” Christophe says loud enough for Jimmy to hear.

“I assure you I’m a very reputable journalist,” Jimmy responds. “And this is s-s-s-strictly a professional visit.”

“Look - I’m not going anywhere, okay? There are no windows in here. I can’t get out. You’ll hunt me down anyway, wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t think you understand,” Christophe says. “I’m not leaving you with him alone.”

Kyle takes a step forward. He’s a few inches shorter than Christophe and a whole lot weaker, but he has courage where it counts. “You can’t come in.” He reaches out his arm, his fingertips touching the door.

It happens so quick. He sees it coming, but he doesn't see it coming. Christophe grabs him by the collars, practically yanks him off his feet, and shoves him against the bulletin case on the wall. The clash of his body hitting the glass destroys any delusion he has that Christophe will listen.

“You listen to me. You think l enjoy being your little fucking guard dog? I fucking hate guard dogs!” Christophe hisses. “But I take pride in what I do, and I need to do right now is protect your fucking ass. So how about you stop screwing around and let me do my job? The way I see it, the only thing standing between you and a hospital bed is me.”

“H-Hey! Let him go!” Jimmy shouts as he hurries over.

“I’ve made it fine so far without you,” Kyle bites back, hoping his voice isn’t shaking too much. “Thank you very much. “I’ll be fine.”

“I s-s-said let him go!”

If Christophe heard Jimmy, he doesn't acknowledge. He leans in close, his nicotine-laced breath filling up Kyle's nostrils. “You were lucky. You will not be lucky twice.”

The click of a camera going off draws both their attention. Jimmy lowers his cell phone, giving Christophe a harsh glare. “That’s going right on the morning paper. I can s-s-see the headline. Campus Asshole Bully Attacking Innocent S-S-Student.”

Christophe lets go of Kyle and takes a step. Kyle grabs him to stop him doing whatever it is he might do to Jimmy. “Fine - okay! We won’t talk.” He looks to Jimmy and shakes his head apologetically. “I’m sorry… I’m going to have to put a raincheck on that talk again.”

Jimmy alternates his gaze between Christophe and Kyle. He grips his phone tighter then nods slowly. “All right. If you need me, you know how to reach me.”

“I’ll call. I promise this time.”

After giving Christophe one more look, Jimmy trudges out of sight. Kyle straightens his jacket, the spot where he hits the case aches dully. He stares at Christophe, only to find Christophe staring back. Danger lurks in Christophe’s relentless eyes, and it’s Kyle who has to break eye contact first.

Adjusting the strap of his bag, he moves away and stomps down the hall. He stop outside the men's room and narrows his eyes at Christophe. “I have to take a shit. Do you want to come too?”

“Of course. I can wipe your ass and give you a prostate exam.” Christophe leans forward to push the door open. “After you.”

Kyle chokes back a string of words and turns around. He doesn’t need the restroom anyway.

* * *

Most students probably would be happy to see an email in the morning that their professor cancelled lecture due to illness. Kyle would be in the minority that's actually disappointed by the news. He worries how far behind this absence will put them, and if the professor will double down on the next lecture or skim over important information they should know. He's hoping for the former, not so much the latter.

The only good thing is he can avoid Christophe today. Or at least a couple more hours. He might have a barely existing social life, but staying cooped up in his room all day is excessive even for him He puts on his jacket even though he doesn’t need to go anywhere yet. He leaves the building and as expected, Christophe is having a cigarette for breakfast while he waits for him.

“My class is cancelled,” Kyle announces. “So… take the day off or something… I’m not going anywhere.”

Christophe doesn’t move an inch from his usual spot. He parts his lips. A puff of smoke dances upward into the chilly mid-October air. “Nowhere?”

“Nowhere,” Kyle repeats. He raises a challenging brow and mockingly says, “Do you want to pinky swear?”

“Sure.” Christophe sticks out his pinky finger and waits.

Kyle rolls his eyes and shuffles back inside after one last look at Christophe, wondering if Christophe’s just waiting to finish his smoke before he heads off for more meaningful activities. He doesn’t stay long enough to find out. He has other things he can be doing instead. He settles in at his desk and catches up his reading. Just because class is cancelled, it doesn’t mean he can’t learn on his own.

He bats an uninterested glance at Eric crawling out of bed then stretching and scratching his stomach as he goes for the bathroom.

The peace and quiet is precious - a rare luxury he has these days. Not that he actually enjoys it now that he has it. When the room goes silent, the ringings in his ears get loud and violent. The more time he has to think, the more a whirlwind wrecks havoc inside him.

How can he put an end to this? Will he need to end up like Thomas before he can feel an ounce of safety? Does he have to withdraw from school like Kelly Rutherford did? According to Jimmy (he called like he said he would), there were two more “messages” sent to Mysterion. By Jimmy’s count, there is only one person who was saved by Mysterion who hasn’t been harmed yet.

It’s him. He’s the last one. Maybe that’s why he gets the special treatment. Maybe by keeping him safe, Gregory and his side can count it a win against the unknown threat looming across the campus. But then what? Is he supposed to spend the rest of his years here hiding behind someone’s skirt, using them as a shield? And how long will that last? How far will these people go to draw Mysterion out if they can’t get to Kyle to line their ducks in a row?

 _How much blood will it take?_ Jimmy’s question is one that Kyle doesn’t ever want to know the answer to, but feels like they’ll find out soon enough either way.

He locks away the turbulent thoughts and forces his attention on his screen instead of the panic tearing his guts out.

It’s a little before noon when Eric comes back from class with Butters in tow. Butters carries both their books in one hand and a big bag of takeout in the other. Kyle stretches in his chair, his stomach growling at the smell of food. The granola bar he wolfed down earlier is not doing much to delay the inevitable. He might have to break out the cup noodle at this rate.

“Kahl, there’s a very smelly English guy outside. He says he knows you?” Eric says as he undoes the knot on the plastic bag and greedily retrieves boxes and boxes of food. “Can you get rid of him? Thaaanks.”

There are only two English people Kyle knows, and neither of them smell bad. Gregory is cloaked in expensive cologne, and Pip smells like what he imagines Heaven would smell like. A third person pops in mind, even though he hopes it isn’t the case.

“Aww… Shit… No way…”

Ignoring the tempting aroma of Eric and Butters’ lunch, Kyle plods to the lounge. He spies out the window and groans annoyingly when his hope is shattered.

“Is he a hobo?” Butters asks curiously. “My parents would ground me if they knew I talked to a hobo! Oh, I can hear my dad now. You’re in big trouble, mister! What were you thinkin’ talkin’ to a dirty bum! I bet you my bottom dollar he’s a drug peddler and - and a boozer!” He drops his head and shuffles in place nervously. “Oh boy, I’m in it now…”

“Damn it, why do we attract so many poor people?” Eric grumbles after a mouthful of fries. “Kahl, give him a dollar and make him leave!”

“Butters, calm down, he’s not a hobo and that’s a grotesque stereotype. And he's French, fatass,” Kyle says, watching Christophe gazing off in the other direction. “You should know the difference.”

“Still European. Still smells very bad,” Eric says with a miffed tone. “Get rid of him before he makes this whole place stinks up like cheesey farts. By the way, me and Butters need the room for a few hours so if you could get rid of yourself too, that’d be great.”

“Oh, are you having your secret meeting again?” Kyle raises his brow. He has an inkling exactly what happens during these meetings Eric and Butters keep having. It's not something he likes to dwell on. “Why can’t you take that elsewhere?”

“It’s called a secret meeting for a reason, Kahl. I need to have it somewhere secured. Preferably without snoopy gingers.”

“But Kenny's not here yet.” Butters takes out his phone and checks for something. “He said he was gonna come. We shouldn’t start without him. He's gonna feel all left out.”

“Then maybe that poor piece of shit should be on time!” Eric clears his throat and looks at Kyle. “Anyways… Kahl, please deal with the eurotrash. If Keeny shows his ugly face, tell him to fuck himself with a four-inch stick, which is four inches bigger than his microscopic pissant dick.”

“... Is Kenny part of your… You know what…” Kyle closes his eyes and stops himself. “I don’t want to know…”

Walking away and shoveling another handful of fries into his mouth, Eric mumbles, “Butters, get in here and warm up my quesadillas in the microwave!”

“Yes sir!”

Kyle inwardly shudders as he watches Eric and Butters disappear into his room. He wonders if it's too late to tell them to keep off his bed. He's going to need to change his sheets. Or maybe burn them. Burning them sound good. But for now, burning his bedding has to be put on the back burner.

He has to deal with Christophe first.

He looks out the window again and cringes when Christophe clearly spots him spying on him. He zooms out of sight as quickly as possible. He presses his back against the wall and stays perfectly still. Like if he didn't move, Christophe will forget he's in here. It’s a thought he humors only for a few seconds before he treads through the front door and stands at the top of the steps.

There's a pile of snuffed out cigarettes at the outdoor ashtray. As for Christophe, he’s standing in the same spot, wearing the same clothes, and looking the same as when Kyle left him almost two hours ago.

“… Were you here the whole time?”

Christophe doesn't answer. He holds his smoke between his lips, flexing his hands sheltered by thin fingerless gloves.

It’s not that cold now with the sun high above. But at 9:30 this morning, it was barely 40 degree. Kyle can’t imagine it was comfortable standing in that temperature for a few hours. And yet, Christophe did it. Under a different circumstance, Kyle might have been moved by the devotion. In the current situation, it twists his guts into knots.

“... Why?” Kyle walks down to the landing and stares down at Christophe. “I wasn’t going to run off.”

“I know. You don’t run. It’s not in you.”

“Okay, then why? Were you afraid ninjas would kidnap me?”

“Ninjas,” Christophe mouths, a shadow of a smirk forming.

“You know what I was getting at.” Kyle sighs, waving a dismissive hand. “Did you… eat? Did you take a bathroom break? Did you even sit down?”

Christophe answers with a frown, as if he doesn’t understand the need for such things.

“Oh my God. This is unbelievable. You are unbelievable.” Kyle runs his hand through his hair and groans. “Do you seriously think if you take your eyes off me for one second - one single second, my head is going to fly off and you’ll find my decapitated corpse?”

“Bloody. Not the way I would want to go.”

Kyle takes the last steps down and stands in front of Christophe. There is a vast difference between looking down at Christophe and looking up at him. He feels smaller, in more than a literal way. Trying to find the reason for the ice in Christophe’s gaze is like trying to grasp his reflection on the water. It’s there, so clearly there, but whenever he thinks he finally has it, the image distorts and becomes nothing. He only feels the burn of the water, mocking him for ever attempting in the first place. It saddens him to know he can’t reach Christophe.

“They’re coming for me. I know they are - and trust me, I’m scared shitless, but this is not helping me. You can’t spend every waking moment doing this. Even if you can because you clearly have no regard for your own well-being, I can’t go through it.” Kyle sags his shoulders with a heavy sigh. He hardens his resolve and goes on. “I need to fight my own battles. I need to. Otherwise, I’m going to be afraid for who knows how long. You can’t protect me. You don’t need to.” He rests his gaze softly. Pleadingly. “I don’t want you to.”

“Then what do you want?”

Kyle draws a breath and breaks eye contact for a moment. When he looks back, he musters the best smile he can. “If you’re going to stick around like this… I’d rather it be under better motive. I want you to be my friend.”

“I don’t want to be friends.”

The reply is so quick and brusque that Kyle thinks - he _hopes_ for a moment he misheard. The cold stare from Christophe tells him otherwise. It shouldn’t be a big deal, but his chest goes taut when he replays the words. He drowns in their bitterness. Whatever molded Christophe into what he is now, he thinks he might be better off not knowing. It’s not something Christophe would share anyway.

He draws another breath and nods with a downcast gaze. “… I hope you change your mind someday… but I’m not changing mine. I don’t need you.” He shuffles a few paces away then walks off without a word or a glance.

Christophe snuffs out his unfinished smoke and follows.

* * *

“No strippers. Please, guys, I’m serious.”

The table clamors in unison protest. Their voices add onto the existing cacophony in the dining hall. Kyle would’ve normally opted to be somewhere more quiet, likely joining Pip and his group in the table near the back where they appear to be having a more sophisticated and calm conversation. But that’s not an option anymore. The idea of eating with Gregory and Christophe ruin any appetite he has.

So he’s stuck sitting at the edge of the table next to Bradley, while the rest of the gang shouts over one another like a bunch of excitable fourth-graders.

“It’s your 18th birthday, Stan!” Clyde rattles Stan by his shoulder. “We have to make it big!”

“You can make it big without strippers,” Stan says with a grimace. “We can just go to Raisins like we always do. It doesn’t have to be a thing.”

“It’s just a stripper. It’s not like we’re buying you a hooker.” Kenny’s grin widens to mischevious proportion. “Unless that’s what the birthday boy wants? ‘cause whatever the birthday boy wants, the birthday boy is gonna get.”

“The birthday boy wants a nice night out with his buddies without any stripper or hooker involved. Can the birthday boy get that?”

“C’mon!” Clyde practically whines, shaking Stan harder. “You only turn 18 once, bro! You gotta go all out. Make it a fucking night to remember!”

“How much of your birthday do you remember?” Token jabs.

“That’s why we invented Instagram, Token, so we can get shit-faced and still have something to remember by.” Clyde rolls his eyes then turns back to Stan. He grips Stan’s shoulder and says, “You gotta trust me on this.”

“I do! It just - it makes me… I don’t know... uncomfortable, okay?”

“... The stripper can be a man,” Jason snickers. “If that makes the lap dances more comfortable.”

“... Jesus Christ...” Stan elbows the table and pinches his nasal bridge.

Eric makes a sound that’s either him chortling or choking on his tater tots. “You know, Stan, for a vegan, you sure love your meat popsicles.”

Butters frowns and sticks his tongue out.“... Oh, meat popsicles don’t sound yummy. Popsicles should be sweet… like cherry or watermelon-flavored!”

“It can be if you use the right lube.” Jason laughs. “Stan would know all about that.”

Stan covers his face and groans so loudly that Clyde has to pat him on the back sympathetically. Kyle keeps his eyes down on his own plate, his cheeks tingling from a blush. This is not the sort of conversation he finds himself in often but he’s hanging on every word.

“No - no, Butters, don’t listen to them, no,” Token calls out from the other end of the table. “I’ll explain later.”

“Wait, wait.” Kenny sits up and leans onto the table. He looks excitedly from one end to the other, trying to find someone who’s willing to answer his question. “I wanna hear more about Stan’s blatant violation against his vegan lifestyle.” He turns in his seat. “Craig, tell me.”

“I don’t pay attention to Stan’s sexcapade,” Craig says listlessly.

“I don’t have any - Oh Jesus Christ!” Stan throws his hands out helplessly. “Can we go back to talking about the party?”

“How about we talk about summer orientation instead?” Eric says, batting his eyelashes. “Oh, Stan, do you want to share your summer orientation memory with Keeny? I don’t think Instagram captured that.”

Stan goes back to burying his face behind his hands. Kyle shifts uneasily in his chair, hanging on more so than before. He knows some of the gang bonded so quickly because they met at orientation beforehand (he knows it’s how Clyde and Stan ended up being roommates), but it seems like there is something else during those two-and-a-half day he hasn’t heard about.

Clyde shushes Eric while he rubs Stan’s back. “Hey, I thought we agreed what happened at orientation, stays at orientation.”

“What happened?” Bradley asks, and Kyle quietly thanks him for speaking up for the both of them.

“Staaaaan. Tell them what you did,” Eric coaxes.

Jason grins so wide the corners of his mouth can reach his ears. “Or who you did.”

And there is it. The blinds opened up. The mystery solved. Kyle looks up and blinks away from staring at Stan. It’s not something very shocking. It’s not like he doesn’t expect Stan to have been with other people (oh he’s talking like they’re even together) but the realization that he knows next to nothing about Stan’s previous relationship sours his stomach.

“Whatever happened to that guy anyways?” Scott asks, looking at Stan.

It’s Token who answers. “Gary Harrison? I heard his parents pulled him out of school.”

“Probably wouldn’t have happened if Stan pulled out,” Jason cackles and high-fives Scott.

“Jesus Christ!” Stan shrieks into his hands and smacks his head into the table. “Can we not!?”

“Stan, I hope you learned your lesson,” Eric says in between chews of his food. “You corrupted a perfectly nice Mormon boy. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“I didn’t corrupt him! It was mutual.” Stan stares wide-eyed at Eric and gapes anxiously. “And - and his parents wanted him to go to Brigham Young - so he went. It wasn’t me - It has nothing to do with me!”

“Do you still talk to him?” Clyde asks curiously, pausing his impromptu backrub.

“No!”

“Do you wish you were still talking to him?” Kenny raises his brow, a smirk playing over his lips.

“Hey, strippers! I love strippers!” Stan cuts in loudly. “How about we get one that’s dressed like a cop?”

“Don’t change the subject, Stan.” Eric waggles his fork chidingly at Stan as he chews noisily. “You need to accept you ruined a poor kid’s life and deal with that.”

“A cop would draw too much attention,” Kyle chimes in, pushing around his corn with little interest. “It could be trouble.”

Kenny points his finger at Kyle. “There’s a guy with a good head on his shoulders. Hey, how about a professor?”

“Do you think a professor walking into a student dorm isn't going to cause a scene?” Kyle rolls his eyes subtly. He sets down his spoon, lacking the will to carry on the charade that he’s still hungry. “If you want to bring a stripper in here without anyone being suspicious, have him… or her dress like one of us. No one would bat an eye.”

“I didn’t know you were such an expert on strippers, Kahl,” Eric says as he gets up with Amber hanging from his coat pocket. “Are you secretly running a strippers house we should know about?”

“I’m not even going to answer that,” Kyle mumbles with a blank stare.

“Are you getting more food?” Token says.

Eric scoffs. “Yeah, I gotta load up. I have to fast for a whole day.”

“I can’t believe you know what fasting means,” Craig says.

“For what purpose? I hope it is not for a new detox diet.” Kevin asks with a wince. “It is a reckless and illogical fad.”

“No, I’m preparing for Yom Kippur, you ignorant assholes,” Eric answers. He puffs his chest out proudly as he places his hand over his heart. “I have to afflict my soul. Unlike Stan, some of us repents when we made a wrong choice.”

“I didn’t corrupt anyone!” Stan shouts.

“Say, Kyle, you gonna do it with Eric, ain’t ya?” Butters asks. “The Yam Kidpoor thing?”

Kyle bites his lower lip and mutters. “Uh - yeah, you’re pronouncing it wrong, but yeah, of course, I’ll get - uh…”

Eric stares at Kyle. Slowly, the corner of his lips turns up into a sneer. “... You forgot, didn’t you? You forgot the holiest day of the year. Wow, Kahl, I knew you're a sucky Jew but this is just humiliating for you. I’m glad one of us is trying to uphold our noble tradition.”

“Shut the hell up,” Kyle replies half heartedly, distraught that he knows Eric is right. “And for the last time, you are not a Jew so it’s not your tradition. Even if you observe the Jewish holidays, you’re still not a Jew.” He picks up his tray and brushes past Eric as he leaves.

“... So he did forget,” Scott mumbles quietly to Bradley, who nods vigorously.

“Hey, you aren’t gonna stay and plan the party?” Kenny leans back into his chair so he can see past Craig. “We could use your help.”

Kyle shrugs and sends an abrupt glance to Stan. “It looks like you have it handled with the strippers. I’ll see you around.”

“What crawled up your ass?” Eric mutters as he trails behind then moves toward the line for his third helping of the night.

Even without Eric behind him, footsteps track Kyle to the tray return then through the dining hall and out the front at last. He slips his hands into his pockets, his breath hanging in the air before his mouth. The familiar waft of cigarette fills his nostrils. The distinctive sound of hard boots hitting frosty ground drums his ears.

“Kyle, wait.”

A new set of footsteps hastily catches up. Stan walks alongside him, his hands in his pockets as well. He looks at Kyle instead of forward. Kyle greets him with a half smile, his own eyes fixed on the road ahead. In the weeks he’s known Stan, this is the first time he feels the claws of uncomfortable silence digging into his skin.

Stan opens his mouth. Whatever it is he wants to say, it dies in his throat when he turns his head. He looks back to Kyle, his brows turning down. “Is he still following you around? That’s messed up. How do you even stand it?”

“I get used to it. The trick is to ignore him,” Kyle mumbles back, the humor in his tone doesn’t quite surface.

Stan shuffles closer toward Kyle. He drops his voice into a low pitch Kyle didn’t know exist. “I don’t like him doing that.”

“Maybe you can ask him to leave.”

Stan moves (of course he does). Kyle grabs him by the sleeve to stop him from doing so. If there is one thing he learned about Christophe from the past three days, it is that Christophe listens only to his own command. Anyone who tries to dictate him otherwise would be lucky to get away with just a broken wrist.

“He’s trying to help.” Though the words have a pound of truth, it doesn’t mean Kyle accept it as so. He tugs on Stan’s sleeve again to make him withdraw from his staring contest with Christophe. “Leave him be. At least no one tries to mess with me with him around.”

The rest of the walk is completed without another verbal exchange. As usual, Christophe mans his post at the bottom of the steps and doesn’t follow Kyle inside the building. As soon as they’re alone in the lounge, Stan takes a hold of Kyle by the hand and keeps him from going back to his room.

“Hey - uh… Is everything okay? You just left - I mean, that’s not like you.”

Kyle glimpses at their hands then shrugs nonchalantly. “I was done eating.”

Stan purses his lips and tilts his head. “Is it… Does it have something to do with the guys said? Uh - about me - and…”

“Gary Harrison?”

“Yeah…” Stan rubs the back of his neck. “Does it bother you?”

Kyle shakes his head, easy and simple because it’s the truth. “No, it doesn’t bother me.”

“Then why did you walk out?”

“Because I realize I don’t know everything I wish I knew about you… and I think that’s my fault.”

“Dude.” Stan furrows his brows and squeezes Kyle’s hand. “That’s seriously not even close to being your fault. It’s just - we haven't… I don’t know… we haven’t had the chance? We don’t know each other for that long and that kind of stuff, you have to figure it out together, you know what I mean? Like down the line and stuff?”

Kye swallows a lump in his throat. He presses his lips close and steals the warmth of Stan’s hand. “What if there is no down-the-line for us? I know you said you’d wait until I’m ready but… Stan, I’m in a really, really fucked up place. What if I’m not ready soon enough?”

“I’ll wait,” Stan says like he’s reciting the alphabet. Like it’s the easiest thing in the world for him to say. Like it’s nothing consequential. Like it’s not ripping a hole straight through Kyle. “You don’t have to worry. I’m waiting for you, Kyle. I’m going to wait for you.”

“You can’t possibly know that you will,” Kyle whispers as he lowers his gaze. “You don’t - Neither of us knows what’s going to happen tomorrow or - or a week or a month from now. Things can change. Feelings change.”

“No shit, yeah, I know that,” Stan scoffs. He sighs through his nose and takes his hand off to reset both hands on Kyle’s forearms. “Look, I know it makes no damn sense, okay? And making meaningless promises is pointless because yeah, who knows what’s going to fucking happen tomorrow? But, Kyle… What I do know is that I want to wait so I’m gonna do it. And - and who knows, maybe our down-the-line isn’t coming anytime soon. Maybe it won’t come until five, ten years from now or maybe it’ll never come. But I know that even if a Gary, or a Larry, or a Mary comes along between here and until then, I know that when you’re ready, Kyle, I’ll be here. I’ll wait.”

“Stan… That’s…” Kyle takes in a long breath, searching Stan’s crystalline eyes. “That’s not possible. You said it yourself… we barely know each other. How can you possibly feel that way about me?”

“I don’t know… I just know.”

“You’re going to wait,” Kyle repeats.

“Yeah, sure,” Stan nods confidently. The corners of his eyes crinkle. His smile is a galaxy, a symphony of sparkling colors and trembling majesty. It’s endless. It’s terrifying. It’s beautiful. “... I’ve waited for you my whole life, dude. I can wait some more.”

Kyle lets out the breath he doesn’t know he was holding. He slumps forward, like his knees have given out on him, and falls into Stan’s arms. He holds Stan against his bones, knowing his life depends on it. He sets his eyes to rest. His chin presses on Stan’s shoulder. Their bodies align like constellations.

“I hope I’ll be worth it.”

Stan turns his head and buries his nose in Kyle’s hair. “You already are.”

Kyle sighs off the weight in his chest and flutters his eyes open. It’s hard to see outside with the ceiling light in the lounge. He can just make out the glow of a cigarette behind the glass.

It dims then dies.


	10. Introductory Assertiveness

_Students critique various approaches to be assertive and analyze why sometimes getting what you want is the exact opposite of what you actually want._

* * *

Kyle leans against the counter and stirs his morning coffee. In about twenty minutes, he needs to head off to class, which means he’ll have to deal with Christophe. It’s been a whole week, and it still bothers the hell out of him. It’s not growing on him like Gregory dismissively said it would. It doesn’t help that any attempt he made to engage Christophe in conversations died before they began. Christophe doesn’t want to be friends and he has no interest in sharing personal details about himself. He’s here strictly for business. Whatever business it is he thinks he has.

In addition to his privacy invasion, a new problem arises. After five days, even the least observant people around him are starting to notice his new 24/7 companion. Kyle never imagines himself at the center of any rumors, but they’re coming to him with every wisp of wind. Stalker ex-boyfriend is a popular one and the one most people buy. There are a few other theories he doesn’t bother to remember. None of them he actually cares for. People can indulge in whatever rumors they want; it’s not going to make Christophe go away.

He brings the mug to his lips and blows softly to cool the liquid, being in no hurry even though he knows Christophe is outside waiting for him. It's mean, he knows, and sometimes a pang of guilt hits him in the wrong place knowing how much Christophe sacrifices for him. But then again, no one asked him to do this so he can't feel too bad about the self-imposed masochism.

He glances up at Tweek and Craig passing outside his suite as they leave for class. It's a gradual difference, but he notices that Tweek is less anxious lately. It's almost like Craig’s stoic attitude is rubbing off on him. Not that Tweek hasn't always seemed a little more at ease with Craig around, like everything that's rotten about the world is a little less smelly when Craig's there. That's a relationship he deeply admires and wonders if he can attain one day.

With the two out of sight, he turns his attention back to his phone to continue delaying the inevitable. He's sipping his coffee and browsing the morning news when a loud clamor from outside takes his eyes off his screen.

It sounds like Tweek’s voice. It sounds like he's screaming.

Kyle sets down the coffee and rushes outside, beating a concerned Token by a few seconds. What’s happening out there is nothing he wants for a Friday morning.

Craig and Christophe are tangled in violent punches. Craig blocks an oncoming fist but can't move with Christophe grabbing onto his clothes. He counters with a punch that misses and follows up with a vicious head butt. Christophe staggers a half step, losing his hold on Craig, but quickly regains his composure and lunges forward. Tweek jumps in from the side and knocks Christophe back with a ruthless uppercut. Christophe loses his footing and drops ungraciously on his ass.

Token blows past Kyle and runs straight for the fight. Kyle moves too, aiming for Christophe but Tweek beats him to it. Tweek straddles Christophe and rains down a barrage of barbarous punches. Christophe brings his arms up to protect his head and kneels Tweek in the stomach. Craig, with Token’s help, drags Tweek off and pulls him a couple steps away. Tweek pants, fists poised by his side. His body trembles but his eyes glow with fury.

Kyle has always thought Craig was the one protecting Tweek. Today, he finds out how tragically wrong he was.

Craig gets around in front of Tweek and shields him as Christophe scrambles onto his feet. Token presses a hand on Craig's chest and holds him back. He extends his other arm to bar Tweek from making a move as well.

Kyle stands at Christophe's side and realizes he’s literally standing at the wrong side too late. He looks tensely at the three across from them and dims under their collective gaze. They all seemingly shift the blame onto him because he brought Christophe into the picture. He isn't going to defend Christophe, but he can’t point fingers either.

“Ah, c’mon, finish what you started.” Christophe says.

Token says, “It’s not worth it, man. He's not worth it.”

“What happened? Is everyone okay?” Kyle asks.

If Craig wanted to say something, Kyle's glad he didn't. Craig’s stare is glass shards. Hard eyes line with so much anger Kyle has to glance away.

Behind Craig, Tweek keeps his expression solid though his lips quiver ever persistently. He blurts out, “He hit Craig!”

“He hit me first,” Christophe bites back.

Token looks at Tweek and shushes him. “Let's go. Come on. We have better things to do.”

Token pats Craig repeatedly to get him to move. They all know that if Craig doesn’t go, no one goes. In that moment, Kyle is really glad Clyde isn’t here. Otherwise, there will be absolute hell to pay. Craig tears his harsh stare off Kyle and turns away at last. He brushes his hand against Tweek’s, and Tweek curls a finger loosely around Craig’s index finger in response. Together, the trio walks off after Token gives Kyle one last scalding gaze and leaves him alone deal with Christophe.

Christophe dusts his pants. He doesn’t look worse for the wear but his displease is visibly in the lines on his forehead. “You ready to go?”

Kyle crosses his arms over his chest, feeling terribly like his mother as he garnishes his words with a stony glare. “What the hell was that?”

Christophe cups his hand over his smoke to shelter the flame from the October breezes. He flicks the lighter a few times but it refuses to fuel his addiction. “Piece of sheet,” he mutters then shoves the unlit cigarette back in its pack. After that, he finally answers Kyle's question. “A fight.”

“No fucking shit.” Kyle scrunches his nose and hardens his gaze. “What the hell happened? What did you do?”

Christophe cocks his head with a raised brow and a smirk. “Did you not hear what I said? The blue one came at me first.”

“Why would Craig just hit you out of nowhere?”

“You think I provoked him? I didn’t do sheet.” Christophe rubs his thumb at the bruise surfacing at the corner of his mouth. “Why don’t you ask your friends? The twitchy one has a strong punch. Best I’ve seen in a while.”

“I don’t think they want to be my friends anymore after that.” Kyle rubs his temple and groans. “If you’re trying to chase off everyone so no one can get near me, you have my commendation.”

“What can I say? I like having you to myself.”

Kyle reels back and narrows his eyes. “Fuck off. Seriously.”

“If I don't?” Christophe closes in as per his default intimidation method. His eyes are colder than the wind blowing around them. “What would you do?”

“I don't know.” Kyle breathes and hopes he doesn't break eye contact first. “I hope we won't have to find out.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“Stop it.” Kyle stands as tall as he can. “I mean it. Stop. This is bullshit. I don’t care you want to protect me or whatever. I don't need you, Christophe. I never did.”

“You want me to go?” Christophe shoves Kyle. Kyle tumbles and only manages to stay on his feet because Christophe holds him up by his collar. “Prove you can handle yourself. Fight me. You beat me, you’ll never see me again.”

“What the fuck? No way! That's ridiculous!”

“Don't I get on your nerves? Don't you want to get rid of me?”

Kyle holds Christophe’s gaze. The gentle way didn’t work before so the only way may be to be tougher than Christophe. It’s a feat but if Tweek can do it, why can’t he? He says, “Violence isn't the answer. You should know better than this.”

“My mother never taught me better.”

“I know what you’re doing. You’re pushing me. You’re trying to make me mad. Guess what, I’m not sinking to your level. I’m not going to change what I believe in. I’ll take care of this my way. That’s it.” He cups his hand over Christophe’s grip and tries to wrestle him off. “You want to let go of me now.”

Christophe sneers like a rabid dog ready to bite. “Is that all you will do? Play nice and talk your way out? I have news for you. Knives don't speak English.” He tightens his grip and lifts Kyle up on his tip-toes. “There will always come a time when you have to get your hands dirty. Then what will you do? In this world, you fight or you’ll be a victim your whole life.”

“I’m _not_ a victim,” Kyle hisses. He shoves against Christophe’s hold. “The things that happened to me didn’t happen because I was weak or I couldn’t throw a fucking goddamn punch. They happened because this place is shit! But you know what? I’m dealing with it. I’m moving on and that’s where my strength is. That’s what makes me strong, not whether or not I can kick your supercilious ass!”

“Are you? Dealing with this?” Christophe taunts, leaning so close Kyle can practically taste the nicotine. “You hide. You react. That is all I see. You aren’t doing sheet. I’m the only reason you aren’t sucking applesauce through a fucking straw with your wired shut jaw.”

Kyle stops trying to pry Christophe off. Instead, he wraps his hands around Christophe’s wrists. “If something bad happens to me, it wouldn’t be your fault.”

A switch goes off in Christophe. Kyle see it in the coldness that melts away to reveal a pair of burdened and tired eyes. It’s so easy to forget that Christophe is just like him: a damn kid, barely an adult, trying to navigate through a tumultuous world that makes so little sense. Everyone blaming them for the way they turned out. No one offering to help.

“Nothing bad will happen to you,” Christophe says. “That’s why I am here.”

“This is about Thomas, isn’t it?” Christophe’s silence speaks more than his words can. Kyle goes on, feeling the muscles tension under the worn sweater Christophe wears. “I kind of figured it might be. I mean, why else would you go through all of this for me if you didn’t feel like you have to make up for something. Look, I’m sure someone… Pip or Gregory even has already told you but I’ll say it as well. What happened to Thomas wasn’t your fault. You didn’t fail him because you weren’t there. He didn’t get attacked because you didn’t protect him. You couldn’t have known. No one could’ve known. If you want to do something for him, you should be by his side, not here. You can’t use me to make up for Thomas.”

Christophe takes a stifled inhale. “He doesn’t need me.”

“I’m sure he needs his friend.”

Christophe loosens his hold. He retracts his hands by his side. He keeps his eyes on Kyle, looking so uncharacteristically fragile. “You talk more than Gregory does.”

“I’m not as full shit as he is.” Kyle straightens his clothes. “I appreciate the intention, but this is wrong. You know it is. I told you. I need to fight my own battles. If you want to help, you have to do it on my terms.”

“You said you don’t need me.”

“I don’t.” Kyle shrugs. “But I want you. The offer stands. If you pull your head out of your ass and apologize for stalking me, I still want to be friends and we can figure this mess out together.”

Christophe quiets. His eyes flicker with deep thoughts. For a moment, Kyle thinks he’s finally gotten through to him. But Christophe chuckles and shakes his head. “I can’t be friends with you.” He shoves his hands into his pockets with a bite to his lower lip. Then he turns around and walks off. No apology. No explanation. He just leaves.

Kyle inhales sharply to still his pounding heart. He got what he wanted. He made Christophe leave. So where is this empty feeling brewing in the pit of his stomach coming from?

* * *

The good news is that the guys didn't go through with the strippers. The bad news is… well, everything else. Although Kyle supposes it can always be worse. The walls thump with cacophony of noise. Bottles and bottles of various types of alcohol crowd every inch of the upstairs kitchen. There are people he recognizes from the next buildings dancing, and people he doesn't know drinking and talking amongst themselves. There are girls travelling in packs and giggling into each other’s ears. He didn't even know the guys are friends with any girl. Even the RA makes an appearance, coming in and out of his room every now and then for a new bottle of beer and a half-hearted warning about keeping it down.

He trails up the stairs and takes in the scene. Clyde and Kevin vigorously and (possibly) drunkenly make out on the couch, in front of where Token, Eric, and Kenny play Rock Band with Eric on vocal. Tweek, Scott, and Bradley hang by the counter where all the snacks are located. Jimmy Valmer is here too, along with his friend, Timmy Burch, who are both apparently friends with Craig and Clyde. It is a very small world after all.

As for the birthday boy, he’s dominating at beer pong. Kyle watches from the sideline, not close enough to be invited into the game, but at a good distance to have a clear view. He studies the colors on Stan’s cheeks and his loose body movement. He wishes he can be closer to keep an eye on Stan (he looks like he has one cup too many already) and a more involved part of what makes him beam like a sunrise. Despite his protest against Clyde making a huge deal out of his birthday, it’s clear in his wide grin that Stan’s having the best time out of everyone presented.

Stan takes two ping pong balls. With practiced skill, he bounces them off the table. The balls land perfectly in the two cups. The group of Phi O2 pledges watching the game cheers and claps. Stan pumps his arms in the air then turns to hug Wendyl, his partner against Craig and Jason.

Yes, Wendyl Testaburger. The very same Wendyl that's turning Gregory's dream of a student revolt into reality. The same who commands the attention of every room he walks in with his majestic grace. The same one who captures everything with insightful eyes and can undo someone with a mere look. The same who wields his wits like a sword and his smile like a dagger. The same one who, if they’ve met until different circumstance, would’ve been someone Kyle likes to befriend. The same who apparently used to date Stan in high school --- something Kyle didn't find out until about thirty minutes ago. The same whom Stan is looking at with doe-eyed nostalgia. The same Wendyl Testaburger whose presence now makes Kyle's stomach turn more so than ever.

Jealousy is ugly. Unexpectedly so. And doubt is its uglier brother who’s stabbing Kyle over and over again.

“Say, Kyle, you feelin’ al’right?”

Kyle blinks out of staring at Stan’s back and watching the flexes of muscles under the plain t-shirt that can’t be right for the weather. He musters up the best smile he can for Butters. Like himself, Butters is one of the only ones who aren't nursing an alcoholic beverage or already past out for the night.

Butters leans next to him against the wall and shifts his weight back and forth between his toes and heel. “You’re lookin’ kinda bummed.”

“I'm fine,” Kyle says, and it's the truth. Physically, he's fine. Even if his chest tightens at the arm Stan wraps around Wendyl’s waist.

Butters tilts his head with concern. “You sure? You don’t look like you’re havin’ a good time. Is somethin’ the matter? Wanna talk ‘bout it, buddy?”

“No, no, nothing’s the matter. It’s a really fun party… Clyde did a great job.”

“He sure did. Stan’s his good buddy and all. He wanted to make sure it’s the best party ever.”

“Stan’s lucky. I’m sure he really appreciates what Clyde did.”

Butters grinds his knuckles together and fixes his gaze to the floor. “Y’know, Kyle, they say little white lies don’t hurt nobody, but I don’t think that’s true. Lies hurt, no matter what color they are.” He glances up at Kyle and smiles half-way. “You don’t gotta lie, Kyle. If somethin’ botherin’ ya, you can tell me. I’m a real good listener.”

Kyle softens and returns a fuller smile. Even though Butters’ offer is tempting and he wouldn’t mind having someone other than Stan to talk to, he can’t drag Butters into the mess that is his life. So he settles instead for a vague gesture at the air. “Well, to be honest… Cartman’s singing is giving me a headache. He sounds like a dying giraffe.”

“Oh, really? I think Eric’s got a beautiful voice... but if you ain’t feelin’ good, maybe you oughta lie down. I'll get ya a nice, cold towel. And a warm glass of milk. Milk always makes me feel better when I’m havin’ a bad time.”

“You don't have to do that, Butters. It's too much.”

Butters waves his hand dismissively. “Aww shucks, not at all. I'm sure you'd do the same for me. Now, how about you go on down and I'll be there in a jiffy.”

Kyle smiles appreciatively. It would probably look bad to leave the party but when he steals a look at Stan laughing into Wendyl’s ear, he makes up his mind. Downstairs sounds great. “Thanks, Butters… This means a lot to me.”

While Butters snakes through the crowd to get to the kitchen, Kyle retreats to his suite. He still hears Eric’s awful singing, and closing the door isn't going to help. He'll just have to ride it out and hope the guys won't be too hungover in the morning.

He waits in the lounge, sinking into the couch though it provides little comfort. He stares at nothing in particular, his mind playing over and over the image of Stan and Wendyl together and how hopelessly blissful they look. What right does he have to be jealous anyway? It’s not like he and Stan are together. What Stan said, however sweet they may be, are just words at the end of the day. It’s not an unbreakable promise. It’s not a guarantee his feelings won’t change. People are fickle and unreliable.

The drones of footsteps reel him out of his spiral. His smile dresses his face halfway before he realizes it's not Butters delivering the cold towel and warm milk.

It's Stan. Stan, with rouge cheeks and dazed eyes, holds out a glass of milk by the rim. He moves with small uncertain steps and carefully lowers the glass to the table, where it clangs loudly when he lets go just a moment too soon. He flops on the couch facing Kyle, with one leg on the floor and the other bent at the knee on the couch. His hands fit in the triangle gap formed by his legs. He tilts his head and rests it against the back.

“Kyle,” Stan says, the stench of alcohol heavy in his breath. His brows lower into a frown. “Kyle… Why are you sad?”

Kyle mirrors the frown, trying to comprehend the question. “... I'm not sad.”

“Butters said you were sad. He said I should bring you milk and a towel. Shit, I forgot the towel...” Stan’s voice is softer and higher than usual as he glances around for the missing towel. When he resets his eyes on Kyle, they’re drowning in worries. “Kyle, are you sad?”

“I'm not sad,” Kyle repeats. He keeps his gaze on Stan, afraid Stan may fall over any second. “Why would I be sad?”

“I don't know…. Kyle. Don't be sad, okay?” Stan sits up as straight as he can and cups Kyle's face with both hands. “Kyle. Smile. You're beautiful.”

Kyle chuckles and sighs a little too sadly despite his earlier declaration of his non-sad state of existence. “And you - are drunk.”

“Yeah… I know.” Stan dips his head and giggles at something Kyle misses. “Hey. Kyle?”

“Yes?”

“You sure you aren’t sad?” Stan thumbs Kyle’s cheek and lowers his voice even further.

Kyle turns his line of sight to the side and breathes out a breath he doesn’t know he was holding. Of course, he’s sad. How can he not be? But sadness is not something he wants to admit or accept. Not in front of Stan, especially.

“I’m not. It’s your birthday, Stan! Why would I be sad? I’m happy for you.”

“Being happy for someone and being happy are two, very, very different thing.” Stan holds Kyle’s face. Even with the alcohol, his eyes are sharply bright and fathomless as an ocean. “Kyle, whatever is making you sad, I want to make it go away…. I want you to be happy. Kyle, I want to make you happy…. Is that okay?”

Kyle swallows and reaches up to hold Stan’s hand. There they are again; those sweet, beguiling words and he falls for them so easily. He nods. “Yes, that's okay.”

“I’ll make you happy. I promise. Kyle. I know you don't want me to kiss you and I’m totally okay with that. But, just FYI, I'm really good at kissing. So good. Kyle, you'll be all like, oh my god, Stan's such a great kisser, I wish he'd kiss me all the time and I would, Kyle. I would kiss you all the fucking time. Any time you want. Anywhere. Kyle. I would kiss the loving shit out of you.”

“I - uh - that sounds great.” Kyle cocks his brow and laughs quietly. The apples of his cheeks burn from Stan’s sloppy smile. “Are you feeling yourself, Stan? You’ve been saying my name a lot.”

“I like the way it sounds,” Stan laughs, breathless and gleeful. He mutters Kyle’s name over and over like a prayer that keeps him safe while his callused thumbs stroke Kyle’s cheeks. “It sounds like home… like I’m inside a rainbow full of happy singing beavers.”

“Singing beavers?”

“They’re so happy. It’s so great. Oh my God, beavers are so awesome, Kyle. Their tails! Are so cool!” Stan pauses to swallow while his body jerks forward a little. He goes on without any mind to it. “And they have scent glands that smells like vanilla. Kyle! Beaver butts smell like vanilla!”

“How about we get you some water?” Kyle squeezes Stan’s hand. “Then you can tell me more about the beavers.”

“Water sounds… really great. Hey, you didn’t drink your milk.” Stan looks toward the glass of cooling milk. He purses his wobbling lips. “Oh God… Those poor cows.” He stares at his hand still on Kyle's face. “Oh God… I touched it.”

“I’m not going to drink it,” Kyle says, tilting his head to press his cheek into Stan’s hand. “I think we should really get you that water.”

“Okay… But Kyle, can I do this first?”

Stan leans forward until their foreheads touch. Kyle freezes in surprise, blinking up at the blur that is Stan's face Then, as if he's done it a million times, he leans into the gesture and closes his eyes under the intimacy. They share air. They bask in each other’s presence. It feels like home. He wants to believe so badly that they're destined for each other. That they're two halves of the same whole, cruelly torn apart by a scared God, reunited at long last. That the feeling of needing each other is so involuntarily ingrained in their bones. That every atom of their being begs for one another. That they're remnants of the same exploded star, meant to be together.

Lies hurt, but some pain are worth it.

“Kyle...”

“Stan?”

“... I feel sick.”

Kyle feels it before he hears it. The wet splash of vomit smacks him right in the face. He keeps his eyes shut and his lungs not taking in new oxygen. His lips squeeze together in hope that the droplets of puke sliding down from his nose aren’t going to get through. He feels Stan moving off the couch. He hears the bang of the glass toppling over when Stan hits the table by accident in his hurry. He hears the distant gurgles and gags as Stan tries to purge the alcohol from his body in the bathroom.

He swallows, his heart thrashing from the lack of air. He raises a hesitant arm up and drags it across his whole face. Then he drags it the other way though he knows he can't ever get rid of the reek from his memory. He flutters his eyes open, thankful no drops of vomit fall from his eyelashes. He rinses off what he can in the kitchen sink then pours a glass of water they should've gotten Stan a long while ago.

He walks into the bathroom, avoiding the splatter of vomit here and there on the carpet. Stan has his head in the toilet, his whole body heaving and twitching. Kyle kneels next to him and rubs a hand up and down his back. The sound and sight and smell are retching, but he holds himself together as best he can.

Stan coughs and spits into the puddle of toilet water and puke. He sits up and mumbles, “Oh God… Cartman’s asscheeks touched this. Does this mean I touched Cartman’s ass?”

“Uh - I guess? Here, drink this, okay?”

“Kyle. I threw up on you.”

“I know. I was there.” Kyle hands over the water, his hand still running on Stan’s back.

Obediently, Stan chugs down the water. He exhales through his mouth and rubs his face. “Oh God… Kyle. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry… Kyle, when I said I wanted to make you happy… this is so not what I meant, Kyle.”

“I know,” Kyle says and then urges Stan to finish the rest of the water. “Can you stand?”

Stan nods and gets up with Kyle holding him up. Thankfully, Stan has enough control of his limbs that they make it to his room without anyone hitting the wall or falling over. He helps Stan into bed, rolling him on his side with a pillow to prop him that way.

Stan nuzzles into the sheet and stares up at Kyle. His hand hangs around Kyle’s wrist. “Kyle.”

“Yes, Stan?”

“Nothing,” Stan mutters. He pulls Kyle forward until he can kiss the back of Kyle’s hand. “I just wanted to say your name again.”

Kyle sighs. The gesture is sweet, but it doesn’t reach him right now. “I’ll be right back.”

Stan presses his head down and closes his eyes. Kyle waits a moment then puts the trashcan at the side of the bed before he heads back to his room to change. As he turns out of Stan’s room, he catches Butters retreating out of the lounge.

“Butters? Wait.”

Butters pokes his head in but doesn’t come back in. “Oh, hey, Kyle. What’s goin’ on?”

“Can you let someone, I don’t know, Clyde, let him know Stan’s in his room? I think he’s done for the night.”

“Oh hamburgers, is he al’right? He didn’t even cut his cake yet.”

“I don’t think he should have any cake right now.” Kyle tries to offset any suspicion with a smile. “He’s fine. He’ll sleep it off.”

“Oh al’right, I’ll tell Clyde. Kyle, you feelin’ better now too?” He glances to the spilled milk on the table. “You didn’t have your milk.”

“No, uh, I’m sorry. Stan knocked it over.” He keeps up his smile and it feels like a lie when he says, “I am fine though. Thank you, Butters, for sending Stan… for everything. I have to get back to him.”

“Oh nah, don’t mention it. Happy to help. You take care now… and Stan, too.” Butters skitters out of sight, mumbling something about not knowing where Clyde is.

Kyle unlocks his door. His foot steps on something. The familiar sound stills his finger on the light switch. He knows what it is on the floor before the light fully illuminates the room.

The envelop is the same shape as last time, and the handwriting hasn't changed either. He tears it open and reads the message inside. He scoffs and traces over each letter of the simple note. The warning fills him with an unaccustomed rage. He guesses, despite how much he hated having Christophe around, Christophe did keep him safe to a certain degree. Now that he drove Christophe off, he’s out in the open again. He wanted to fight his own battles, but this is happening a little too quickly, isn’t it?

He crumples the note and throws it in the trash. It misses the bin and bounces unceremoniously to the floor. He hastily rids himself of the vomit-soaked clothes. Since he plans to spend the rest of the night with Stan in the privacy of his room, he opts for something more comfortable. He puts on his night shirt and lounge pants and topped it over with a grey CU South Park sweater. He leaves his room, carding a hand to get his hair back in control, and grabs a bottle of water from the fridge before he slips back into Stan’s room.

Stan breathes slow and unsteady. His forehead creases with a frown. He rolls uncomfortably into the bed, burying half his face. He tucks his chin down and groans out a troubled sigh. Then he hangs half way off the bed and throws up into the trashcan.

Kyle runs his hand down Stan’s back again, hoping it’ll soothe Stan’s discomfort. “Let it out. There, there.”

Stan scoots back onto the bed once he finished. He puts an arm over his face and breathes heavily. His other hand fumbles for Kyle until it finds his hand. Then he squeezes it and holds onto it like he needs it to live.

“Kyle?”

Kyle squeezes back and smiles even though Stan can't see it.

Stan whispers, “Don't be sad...”

“I won't.”

Stan smiles and rolls back onto his side with Kyle’s help. He steadies out his breathing and looks a little more at ease and comfortable. His hand doesn't let go of Kyle.

Kyle looks down at Stan, thinking how if none of this has happened, maybe he could be crawling in bed with Stan right now instead of keeping his distance away. Maybe it wouldn't be Wendyl’s waist Stan’s arm was wrapped around earlier; it would be his. Maybe they would be together and happy instead of drunk and miserable.

He thinks about the message and scoffs angrily. He thinks about the terror and misery he went through. How these assholes scare and terrorize him. How he's been hiding and talking about how he can handle himself when he has actually done nothing about it.

Be a victim, Christophe said.

Run, the note said.

Fuck that. Kyle Broflovski is not a victim and he definitely doesn't run. It's time to fight.


	11. War: What is it Good For?

_Absolutely nothing. $30 supply fee. Bring your own uniform._

* * *

The campus is sparsely occupied on Saturday morning. Kyle’s footsteps and the distant murmurs are the only indications of life in the building. The door creaks as he enters. A few people turn their heads before they resume their conversations amongst themselves. To his surprise, the small lecture room is filled; there are only a few empty seats scattered here and there, which is better attendance than he’s seen in some of his discussion classes. The bigger surprise is how many familiar faces he recognizes as he debates if he wants to hang in the back of the room or join Pip, who’s flagging him down with an enthusiastic wave, at the very front row.

It doesn't end up being a long debate; he’s here for a reason, after all. His shoes squeak against the tiles as he walks down to the front. He passes Jimmy Valmer in the third row with his notepad at the ready. It doesn’t take an investigative journalist to know why Jimmy is here. Kyle doesn’t pause other than to give Jimmy a meek wave before he continues onward.

In the second row, an alliance of girls establishes their presence. They all wear the same shirt: a long-sleeved tee with black and red diagonal halves and the slogan “Viva La Resistance” in white font printed in the middle. Kyle has no idea the group is already in the shirt-making stage of the revolution. He recognizes the redhead at the end of the row as the one Kenny was with at the library. If she recognizes him, she doesn’t bat an look before she leans on the shoulder of the blonde next to her and whispers something into her ear. In turn, the blonde turns to the next girl and does the same. Just like that, a game of telephone goes on until the last girl in the row (Kyle has seen her before in philosophy lecture. Anna? No, Annie.) gets the message. Annie nods then catches Kyle looking. She frowns and nudges the girl next to her. The domino trickles back the other way. In split seconds, 14 eyes are locked on him. Kyle tenses under their collective stares and hurries up to reach the haven presented as Pip.

“Kyle! How do you do?” Pip greets him with a quick hug and perches his gentle hands on Kyle’s shoulders. It’s comforting the way Pip’s radiance permeates through the sea of darkness drowning everything. His smile seemingly cleanses away all the negativity. “It's so good to see you. Oh, Gregory would be ever so pleased! He's been wanting for you to come.”

“I figure it’s about time I check this out and see what all the fuss is about,” Kyle replies. He follows Pip’s invitation and takes the empty seat. “Do I need to get one of those shirts? I hope they have my size.”

“Oh, no, no, I don’t think that’s necessary,” Pip says, waving his hand dismissively. “They’re more for Wendyl’s friends. I'm sure you'll find the meeting to be rather meaningful.” Pip turns and gestures at the man on the other side of him. “Oh, I don’t think you’ve met David yet, have you?”

David leans forward and doesn’t wait for Pip to introduce them. He waves with a warm and handsome smile and exuberates conviction with a confident gaze. “Hey, so you’re Kyle. I heard so much about you.”

Kyle waves back with a perplexed smile. “I don’t know if I like the sound of that.”

“It’s not bad. You’re just kinda famous ‘round here,” David says with a nonchalant shrug.

“He means Gregory,” Pip chimes in with a soft laugh. “I’ve told you he thinks rather highly of you, so you must gather he talks of you quite often.”

“That actually sounds very bad,” Kyle says with half a grimace. He scoots forward so he can see both Pip and David. “Are you an international student too?”

“On paper, but I'm from Idaho,” Davis answers with a stern gaze. “The school sees a Mexican, and say, yes let's throw him in the international hall so we don’t have to accept actual applicants from Mexico. It’s bullshit.”

“That’s not right,” Kyle says, frowning. “... but I bet they’re getting away with it.”

“We all know this school is a joke.” David scoffs. “See, my roommate is Japanese, but they say he’s from Korea on the census because they say there are too many Japanese students already, but not enough Korean. But their data is all wrong. Some of the Japanese are actually Chinese and some of the Chinese are actually Vietnamese. It’s so fucked. It’s like, it's all interchangeable to them.”

“What the hell.” Kyle reels back. He looks at Pip for confirmation then turns back to David. “I have no idea that was going on… I honestly am not surprised at this point. Have you - talked to anyone else about this?”

David clasps his hands and sinks his shoulders. “I tried, but they don’t listen, you know. I even tried talking to the school papers, but nothing, man. Everything, whoosh, under the rug.”

Kyle glances back at Jimmy, who’s tapping his pen intently against his notepad in deep thoughts. He wonders if Jimmy can bring the issue to light, but the thought dies before he fully materializes it. Even if Jimmy can help, which Kyle doesn’t think he will because this is not the sensational news Jimmy likes, it’s not like the article won’t be censored by the school.

“That’s why David’s here,” Pip says, patting David on the knee. “Wendyl and Gregory will put an end to all the no-no’s. They’re working so hard to fight for all of us. Oh, we’re ever so blessed.”

“We’ll see,” David mutters with an audible lack of faith.

Kyle nods at David’s comment and not Pip’s optimism. He does a quick look around in the room and notices two things are off. “I don’t see Damien.”

“Oh no,” Pip chuckles, “poor dear isn't much of a morning person. I imagine he must still be asleep. Hopefully, he’ll wake in time for lunch and you’ll have a chance to see him.”

“Oh, it’s all right. It’s Saturday. I wish I was sleeping in too,” Kyle says. It’s a miracle Damien let Pip out of sight. In the time he’s known them, he can only name twice when he saw one half without the other. It’s touching, really. The devotion Damien gives to Pip is unparalleled. The only one who can come close is Craig toward Tweek. He takes another look around the room even though the attendees haven’t changed in the last few seconds. The next question is heavy on his tongue. He pushes them out with hesitation. “And Christophe?”

“Oh dear.” Pip taps his fingers to his mouth and looks up as if Christophe is taped to the ceiling. “I'm afraid I don't know. We haven't seen him in a while. Have we, David?” At David’s headshake, Pip goes on, “He does that sometimes. Oh, but Gregory and Damien both say it's nothing to worry.”

Kyle presses his lips tight as a frown sets in. Having lived with Christophe as his shadow for a whole week, it unsettles Kyle to suddenly not know where he is. “He just… disappears? You don't know when he comes back? Does he at least tell you where he goes?”

Pip shakes his head. “I'm sure if he wants us to know, he would tell us.”

“Everyone has secrets,” David chimes in. “Especially a guy like him.”

“Right you are. All I care is he comes back to us safe.” Pip turns to Kyle, enveloping Kyle with kind eyes. “Do you need him, Kyle?”

Kyle flickers his gaze. From the look of things, it doesn’t matter what his answer is. Christophe is already gone. “I, uh…”

The door swings open to interrupt Kyle. A glance to the mounted clock above the whiteboard reveals it’s precisely 11:05 AM. It’s pretentious to the bone, but who is Kyle to question the people’s revolutionary and his trusty second-in-command? Wendyl and Gregory sweep in like a whirlwind: magnificent, daring, and dangerous all in one. Wendyl takes the lead to the podium. Gregory stands guard by his side. Unlike Stan and the rest of the guys, Wendyl looks no worse for the wear from last night’s party. He smiles at the room. His eyes are knives. He bleeds everyone with a gaze --- one that Kyle doesn’t meet when it reaches him.

“Good morning, everyone,” Wendyl speaks firm and commanding. “I can't express how proud we’re to see so many familiar and new faces. I'll keep this short. I know we all have places we want to be. Let me start by saying thank you for being here. You are here because you believe. You believe we deserve better than a world of trouble. You believe you have the strength in you to fight for what we know is right. The Resistance is born of your faith and your commitment, and we solemnly promise you, your sacrifice will be rewarded with a better tomorrow.”

The room clamors and cheers. Even Pip claps along, albeit not as enthusiastically as the rows behind them. Wendyl holds up his hand. The room silences in an unison that turns Kyle’s stomach. Kyle moves forward with clasped hands and glances at David, who may be the only other person in the room that shares his unease.

“Now, let’s get to the agenda,” Wendyl says. “Gregory will be passing out your shift assignment. It’s a two-hour commitment every day based on the availability you provided last week. Of course, if at any time, you feel uncomfortable or unable to commit, we completely understand. We only ask that you keep us in mind should the circumstance changes. We're still a small group. We need all the support we can get. As for those of you who are new…” His eyes hone in on Kyle once again. “We’d be happy to explain further after the meeting the purpose of our patrols. Moving on, we’re very fortunate Miss Handel from the rec center has agreed to provide us a private group course. I think with the self-defense training at our---”

“Hold it. You lost me,” David cuts in. “Patrols? Self-defense? What does that have to do with protesting the school? You gonna kick the Chancellor’s ass for not lowering tuition?”

The room murmurs. Once again, it takes only one gesture from Wendyl to quiet them. He looks at David. “The purpose of our organization has somewhat evolved since its founding. We still - and will always - fight the injustice of the administration, but there are greater issues we need to address. We strive toward a larger goal now.”

“What are you even talking about?” Kyle deepens his frown and shares a look with David. “What exactly is _this_?”

“It’s not a Q&A session for sure,” Gregory replies.

“It’s fine.” Wendy glances at Gregory then sets his eyes back on David and Kyle. “I’m sure you know about the assaults and crimes plaguing our campus. We couldn’t sit by any longer and do nothing while our friends are hurt and our lives are put in danger. The administration was useless. Our voices were unheard, so we realized it’s time to take matters into our hands. We have to take arms against what's threatening us. We will be the justice Chancellor Victoria denied us.”

Kyle gestures to the row of girls behind him and says, “So you decided to build an army? Don’t you think that’s going way too far?”

Wendyl responds, “If they won’t protect us, then we must protect ourselves. Where's wrong with that?”

“I understand the intent. I get you’re frustrated with the way things are and scared and you want to do something.” Kyle looks at the room. “But this is ridiculous. You're crossing the line. You’re - don’t you see? You’re turning into a vigilante group. What good is that going to do?”

“Exactly. You can't just pick up a baton and call yourself the police,” David adds in. “Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?”

“We do,” Wendyl answers without a waver in his voice. “I think you’re misinterpreting our purpose. We have risen precisely because others have failed. We’re angry. We’re tired. We refuse to be helpless. Aren’t you?”

“Yes, of course, but I don’t think this is going to make things any better,” Kyle says. “You’re - militarizing the student body. How is that the answer?”

“We picked up the call everyone else ignored,” Gregory says.

Kyle furrows his brows. “You should hang up. Weren’t you the one who thinks vigilantism is wrong?”

“Don’t lump us with the likes of your Mysterion.” Gregory sneers. “We’re far from him. He’s a menace.”

“Yeah, Kelly almost died because of him,” the blonde in the second row calls out. “It’s all his fault we're in this mess.”

“No - no, it’s not. He was trying to help,” Kyle bites back against the clamoring agreement in the room. He stands up and gestures wildly. “No one could’ve known what would happen.”

“It is because of his lack of judgement that we must now suffer the consequence,” Gregory says. “He opened a floodgate then left it for us to clean up after him. What sort of hero is that?”

“There's something bigger and darker at play and it's thanks to Mysterion that we have to deal with it,” Wendyl says. “He’s a threat.”

“Mysterion isn’t a threat,” Kyle says.

“We’ll have to disagree,” Gregory says. “The sooner we’re rid of him, the better, and we do intend to accomplish that.”

“You’re going after Mysterion?” Pip’s voice is barely audible amidst the crowd.

“Yeah, seriously,” someone says from the back. “He just calls it quit when shit gets bad?”

“I used to think he was cool but he’s just a fake loser,” a second voice says.

“Yeah, when was the last time someone saw him?” Another voice asks. “Where the hell is he now? If he cares, he needs to own up to what he did.”

“What he did? I’ll tell you what Mysterion did,” Kyle shouts. “He stood up for us before anyone else did. No one asked him to do this. He did it because he knew what is the right thing to do. He wanted to make a difference - and you know what? He did! You wouldn’t be here now if it weren’t for him, and not because you want to make him out to be the villain, but because he changed something in us. All of us. He made us believe! This whole thing about your faith and your strength? It comes from him. Your entire revolution is sparked by him. He’s fighting with goodness in his heart and you want to make him the bad guy?”

“Alas, we all know what the road to hell is paved with,” Gregory says.

Kyle chortles and shakes his head. “With all due respect - and I mean it because I do respect your absurd conviction - this is… Are you fucking kidding me? Do you have too much time on your fucking hands? This is madness. Mysterion is not the enemy.”

“He isn’t our ally, either.” Wendyl steps around the podium. He comes forward until he’s at the edge of the desk. His eyes pierce through Kyle. His words, a dagger held against Kyle’s throat. “What he does or doesn’t do with the goodness in his heart doesn’t matter to us. It’s his actions that count. Right now, they’re speaking louder than his intention can.”

“I thought you’d be a bit more grateful and appreciative, Kyle,” Gregory says. “It’s thanks to our effort that you’re still in one piece.”

“We will take him down.” Wendyl hardens his gaze. “It’s the will of the people.”

Kyle holds Wendyl’s gaze. Where, along the line, have Wendyl and Gregory gone so off the rails? Where has a schoolboy’s fancy become a weaponized revolution? When has the admired hero of the mass been thrown off its pedestal? There is only one thing Kyle knows for sure: he has to stop them before it spirals any further out of control.

“No, not mine.” Kyle backs up then steps out of the aisle. “I’m done here.”

“Yeah, fuck this,” David says as he stands up then follows Kyle to the door.

A few seconds later, Pip mutters a “pardon me” and trails behind them.

“He started the war,” Wendyl calls out from where he stands. “We're just trying to win it.”

The cold October does very little to calm Kyle’s boiled skin. His heart drums in his ears. His hands sweat under his gloves. He takes a sharp breath then another to ease his riled up nerves.

Pip’s voice and his footfalls move a little closer. He places his hand gingerly on Kyle’s forearm. “Kyle, dearie, are you all right?”

“Yeah - yeah, I’m fine.” Kyle nods and forgets to try to smile. “I’m sorry about storming off like that. God, that was dramatic even for me.”

“I thought it was pretty cool,” David smirks, lopsided and smug. “It sent a message.”

“I’m terribly sorry,” Pip says with pressed lips and a heavy frown that don't suit him. “The meetings are usually a bit less… argumentative. And Gregory, dear me, he’s normally less…”

“Of a prick?” Kyle supplies with a scoff. “I haven’t had the pleasure to see it.”

“Oh… He does mean well, you know,” Pip says with a fist clutched over his sternum. “He has a noble heart… even if his method is a bit disagreeable.”

David shakes his head and says, “You don’t buy into that bullshit, do you? They’re outta their mind.”

Kyle nods. “David’s right. They’re starting a witch hunt. Who knows what they’ll do next after they're done with Mysterion? We can’t let them think they’re the ones who get to decide right and wrong.”

“Do you really think so?” Pip presses his lips tighter as he lowers his gaze to the snow-covered ground. “I don’t think that’s what Gregory wants.”

“Look, Pip, I know he’s your friend,” Kyle says, “but I know you see it, too. Whatever it is Gregory started out wanting to do, the Resistance isn’t that anymore. They're playing with fire, and they’re going to burn. Maybe more than just themselves.”

“Then… we should stop them…” Pip says with a renewed confidence. “If they’re going to do more harm than good, well then, I don’t think we ought to stand by and let it happen.”

David breaks into a grin and pats Pip on the back. “Hell yeah, I’m with you, chiquito.”

Kyle nods fervently. “Me too. We’ll be the… counter-resistance. I think we should start by talking to the people in the meeting. See if we can’t get them to listen to reason and make them come to their senses. Anyone can see this is getting out of hand. I’m sure they won’t want to be a part of it after that.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s a good idea,” David says. “Take their army away from them. They’ll have nothing.”

“Sounds like a plan!” Pip chirps and claps his hands together. “Oh dear, this is awfully exciting, isn’t it? Oh no, no, this is a very serious matter. I shouldn’t be so frivolous. Terribly sorry. Right.” Pip furrows his brows and tenses his face. “Putting on my serious face now.”

“Al’right, let’s get this show on the road,” David says, nodding back toward the lecture room. “I’mma show them how we do things in Boise.”

“Right-o! Do let me ring Damien first though.” Pip fishes his phone out and fiddles with it. “I have to tell him lunch is off. Or, oh, perhaps should we have lunch first? You can’t fight on an empty stomach.”

“Uh - you guys go on ahead. There is something I have to take care first,” Kyle says. “I’ll meet up with you as soon as I’m done.”

With a goodbye wave and a vague lunch plan (Pip insists that they should have lunch first), Kyle rushes back to the dorm. It’s getting close to noon; he figures the guys should be over their hangover and up and whining by now. He scurries up the steps and pushes through the lobby doors. Distorted voices from upstairs and the sound of running water in the pipes accelerate his pace. He is hurrying past his lounge when Stan calls out his name and stops him mid-track.

“Hey… Good morning.” Despite his rush, Kyle smiles at the visibly still hung-over Stan hovering next to the kitchen counter. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like someone screwed my head open and replaced my brain with a potato,” Stan answers, his voice sleep-ridden and husky. He cards a hand through ruffled hair. The shirt that’s too thin for October rides up to reveal a distracting patch of skin. He leans against the counter. His smile is lazy and soft when he asks, “Where did you go so early?”

“I - uh - I had to run an errand,” Kyle says.

Stan sloshes forward. Kyle still smells the alcohol and the vomit, but forgets all about it when Stan loops his fingers around his hand.

“Hey, um, I'm sorry about last night... I guess I had a little too much,” Stan says.

“It's all right, and yeah, you did.” Kyle presses his lips and frowns. “You drink a lot.”

“Well - it was my birthday, you know. It’s not like I get shit-faced every night. I mean, I’m not my dad.” Stan forces a laugh and glances to the side. “Uh, I hope - God, I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable or anything…” He rubs the back of his neck with his free hand. “I know I said some really weird stuff and uh - I'm really sorry…”

“Don't worry about it.” Kyle comes a little closer and grips Stan’s forearm. “It wasn't all that bad. You said some pretty nice things, too. I - uh - I’m sorry. I have to go do something really quickly. I’ll back. Maybe we can grab lunch? I heard you’re supposed to have something greasy to help with the hangover.”

“Yeah, sure, okay,” Stan nods sheepishly, his smile spreading full force. “I’ll be waiting.”

Kyle pulls his hand out of Stan’s grip after giving him a reassuring squeeze. Then he hurries up to the second floor and beelines for Craig’s room. The muffled voices inside stop when he knocks on the door.

“Hey - uh, Craig? It's Kyle. Do you have a moment?”

The voices discuss amongst themselves before a set of footsteps approaches the door. Craig, still in his night clothes yet with perfectly combed hair, looms at the doorway. In the gaps not covered by Craig’s tall frame, Kyle can make out Clyde and Tweek on the bed, with Tweek holding a distressed Clyde against him. From the floor, Token glares at him with mild irritation.

“I’m busy,” Craig says. He doesn’t widen the door, but thankfully he doesn’t slam it in Kyle’s face either.

“But I liked it,” Clyde mumbles. His eyes switch anxiously between Tweek and Token. “But I don't want to like it.”

“It's fine if you liked it,” Token mutters back. “That’s just who you are.”

“I’m only going to take a few minutes. Please, it’s important,” Kyle says. He glances behind Craig. Tweek and Token are both too occupied with Clyde to pay him any more mind, and Clyde doesn’t even seem to notice him. He shoots back at Craig and lowers his voice. “It’s about our… friend.”

Clyde clamps his head between his palms. “But Craig’s already the gay one. I can’t be gay, too.”

“What - why not?” Tweek says. “It’s not like there is a quota. Gah - wait, is there one? Hng, I need to know.”

Craig strains an exhalation then takes a step forward instead of giving any verbal answer. Clyde jolts from the bed, and Token nearly has to catch him so he doesn’t fall off it.

“Craig! Where are you going?” Clyde yowls with an outreach arm. “You can’t leave! I'm having a gay-dentity crisis!”

“I’ll just be gone for a second,” Craig says, looking back at the group.

The last thing Kyle sees before Craig closes the door is Clyde flopping onto Tweek’s laps and smothering his face with a pillow. Craig leads toward the laundry room, passing the kitchen where no one has cleaned up the mess from last night. Craig flicks on the lights then leans against one of the washers. He stares uninterestedly at Kyle with his hands in his pockets and waits.

Kyle keeps his voice low. Even if it’s unlikely for anyone to do laundry in mid-day, he can never be too sure. “Do you know how to get a hold of Mysterion?”

“Yes, let me get my carrier pigeon and we can send him a message.”

“You don't have to be sarcastic,” Kyle mutters. He sighs. How is he supposed to warn Mysterion about the Resistance if he doesn’t even know how to reach him? “If you don’t know, you can just say so.”

“I know how.”

Kyle opens his mouth eagerly but stops himself at the last moment. He studies Craig’s blank look and sighs. “Right… but you aren't going to tell me.”

“Correct.”

“Okay… May I know why?”

“Because I don't like you,” Craig says as simple as answering one plus one is two.

“Uh - okay…” Kyle blinks. It's no surprise to him that he isn't popular with the guys but hearing it said to his face still stings. “That - doesn’t matter. It’s urgent. I have to tell him something.”

“I think you're enjoying this.”

Kyle pulls back. If the previous statement stings, this one burns. “I - I’m sorry...? What are you talking about?”

Craig draws a breath. “You know what other people would've done if they were attacked or followed by someone for a week against their will? They’d call the police. You, on the other hand, didn't. You act like it's not a big deal if you have to suffer in silence. That you are like, I don’t know, some kind of martyr, but it’s all for show. Oh, look at Kyle, look at how much pain he’s in. Wow. I wonder why he isn’t doing anything to stop it. Wait, I do know why. It’s because you like the drama. Maybe because the most exciting thing that's ever happened to you up until this point is getting food poisoning from eating expired ham. Whatever kick it is you’re getting out of this, I'm not going to let you drag people I care about into it for your entertainment. So that is why I’m not going to tell you how to find Mysterion.”

“W - what?” Kyle sputters between a scoff and a chuckle. “What - what the fuck are you even talking about, Craig? I don’t enjoy this! You think I like getting caught up in this clusterfuck? I don’t! I’m trying to put an end to it. I want it all to go away!”

“Do you? Do you, really?” Craig asks, cocking his head to the side in a challenge.

“Yes! I’m not having the time of my life if that’s what you think,” Kyle says. “I’m literally about to die. There is a fucking psycho who wants to gut me. There are these other psychos who want to use me to send a message to Mysterion, and oh, there is now this whole - fucking cult that wants to take over the school. And guess what, Craig, surprise! I don’t want to be a part of it. Any of it!”

“Then walk away.”

Kyle takes a sharp breath. He knows exactly how ridiculous his next words are and how much they prove Craig’s point, but he says them anyway, “I can’t... It’s too late for that. I can’t walk away from it now.”

“You wanted to be a part of it,” Craig says. “At least have the balls to admit it.”

Kyle flares his nostrils with a strong exhale. He snaps his gaze away to stare at the box of detergent across the way rather than be scrutinized by Craig’s barbwire eyes. “Just tell him I was wrong. He can’t trust the Resistance. They’re coming after him.”

“And he’s supposed to trust you instead?”

Kyle presses his lips and nods. “Yes. Because _we_ are in together. So if you care about him, help me help him.”

Craig sighs and turns around without a change in expression. He opens the door and steps out. He mumbles, “I still don’t like you,” and walks off.

Kyle holds his head in his hand and breathes. “God… what the fuck am I going to do…”

* * *

“You aren’t wearing your shirt?”

Kyle looks up from his laptop and glances around Kenny to look at Jessie and Annie sitting a couple of rows back in their matching Resistance shirts. He sounds a low groan and shakes his head, sinking back into the uncomfortable chair while Kenny settles in next to him.

“I’m not a part of that,” Kyle says stiffly.

Kenny raises his brows as he puts down his notebook and a pen. “No? What happened?”

“Let’s just say…” Kyle bats his hand, “... irreconcilable differences.”

“That has anything to do with why Jess and Ann look like they wanna eat you up? And not in a fun, sexy threesome kinda way?”

Kyle glances again. The girls are indeed staring daggers at him. His counter-resistance measure has yielded minimal results. David, Pip, and him managed to sway a few minds, but the rest, especially Kelly Rutherford’s friends, are far too inculcated to see reason. He isn’t giving up, but it’s going to take more than words to impede Wendyl’s plan.

“I… don’t know,” Kyle mutters, turning back to face the front of the lecture hall. He glides his finger over the mousepad for no particular reason other than to have something to do with his anxious hand.

“Hey, you okay? You look kinda out of it.”

Kyle shakes his head again and tries to disarm Kenny with a soft smile. Craig’s warning blares in his mind. Regardless of how wrong he thinks Craig is about him, Craig is right about one thing: he can’t drag any more people into his mess. He’s already done that to Stan; he can’t bring Kenny into it too. Especially considering that despite his earlier reservation against Kenny, Kenny has proven to be a pretty decent companion.

“No, yeah, I’m fine - Just… tired, I guess.”

“Ah, Stan keeping you up too much?” Kenny teases, and while it makes Kyle flare red, he is thankful for the change of topic. “I heard you two went to his room together after the party…”

“N - no, no. I don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s not like that - we’re not - we didn’t do anything.”

“No, no, I get it. You don’t gotta tell me the details. Unless you wanna, I mean, I’d be totally down to hearing it. He’s such a stud, and you’re a cutie.”

“Oh God… No, no…” Kyle groans and turns his head away. “I’m not having this conversation with you.”

Kenny laughs, giving Kyle a playful shake on the shoulder, then flips through his notebook to find an empty page. Kyle steals a look at the painstakingly organized notes sprawled across the pages in neat handwriting. Headings are highlighted (Kyle assumes Kenny borrows highlighters later from someone since he only has a pen on him), important notes are bulleted, and post-it tabs section off new lessons. Kyle likes to think he is a good tier student, but even he isn’t on that level of notetaking, and Kenny manages to do it on old fashioned paper and ink.

But what catches his attention at the moment isn’t Kenny jotting down today’s date at the top of the page. It’s the drawing on the previous page that Kenny leaves blank. It’s a distinctive art style. Short, stubby bodies with circular faces and egg-shaped eyes and simple line as smiles. One is obviously Kenny, judging by the orange jacket. The other, Kyle deduces is Butters after a few seconds. Their cartoon selves are holding hands with their arms up in happiness. Above them is the phrase “Friends Forever” written in big, bold, refined letters.

“Cute, huh?” Kenny asks, making Kyle realize that he must have been staring. “Butters drew it.”

Kyle swallows a lump in his throat he doesn't know is there. He traces the words over and over, hoping that the more he looks at them, the less he’ll think it is the exact same handwriting on the notes slipped under his door.

“It’s - yeah…. it’s really… Did he write that too?”

Kenny nods, preening with a proud smile. “You should see some of his other stuff. He’s amazing. It’ll blow your mind.”

Kyle nods and forces a smile on to match Kenny’s. He fixates on Butters’ handwriting and looks over it again and again, studying the strong stroke of the _N_ , the smooth curve of the _R_ , and the parallel lines of the _E_. It can’t be. It has to be a wild coincidence that Butters just happens to have a very similar handwriting as the note-writer. That has to be the only logical explanation.

Butters cannot possibly be a part of it too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Kyle Schwartz's voice* I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack.
> 
> What are plot holes and OOC writing. I don't know what you're talking about.


	12. Intro to Comparative Persuasion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Member this story? Because I don't remember where I was going with this.

Of all the strange and bizarre things that have been happening in Kyle’s life, seeing Kevin Stoley in his suite lounge is probably the least alarming one. Still, it is with cautious steps that Kyle approaches with his bag slung over his shoulder and stands at the edge of the hallway as if Kevin is a troll that he must pass to gain access to his next checkpoint. His footsteps weren’t light, but the headphones Kevin wears are enough to block out the sound. Or, perhaps more accurately, whatever the reason behind the blank look Kevin gives his laptop screen is why he hasn’t acknowledged Kyle’s presence.

“Hey, Kevin, good morning,” Kyle says with a wave that finally hooks Kevin’s attention. “Are you waiting for Clyde?”

Kevin slides down the headphone to his neck and blinks. “Huh, sorry? You said something?”

In the time he’s known Kevin, Kevin had not once broken out of character of his Spock speak. While Kyle doesn’t want to pry, it’s not hard to put two and two together. He clears his throat, as if it’s his fault that Kevin didn’t hear him the first time. “I asked if you’re waiting for Clyde.”

Kevin tries to hide the furrowing of his brows but he’s not fast enough for Kyle to miss it. “No… Clyde’s not… I’m waiting for Cartman.”

“Cartman?” Now it’s Kyle’s turn to furrow his brows. “Why?”

Kevin’s nonchalant shrug sparks Kyle’s suspicion. Eric Cartman is never good news. “He wanted me to help with some stuff.”

“Oh.” Kyle shoots a glance back toward his room. He can't shake the feeling Eric might be involving Kevin in something nefarious. “I hope he didn't twist your arm or blackmail you into doing it.”

“Nah. I like a new challenge,” Kevin says after a glance at his screen. “They should be back any minute now.”

Before Kyle can formulate his thought on exactly what the challenge or who “they” might be, the building door opens right on cue. A cluster of footsteps move across the carpeted floor, accompanied by an argument.

Eric’s voice is loud and condescending as always. “Why don’t you just admit you’re a roach that’ll eat anything?”

Clyde replies, “What’s wrong with putting mustard on your tacos? I don’t get why you’re so worked up about it.”

Eric groans. “Uh - Because it’s fucking gross? God, I hate you so much, Clyde.”

“You just don’t have a refined palate like I do.”

Kevin practically jolts off the couch as if the cushion was suddenly electrified. He throws off his headphone that would’ve kept him chained to the laptop. He nearly trips over the power cord as he skids to the lounge entrance. He grips the door frame and obscures most of Kyle’s line of sight. Not that Kyle has to actually see it. He can taste the tension as Eric, Clyde, and Butters come fully into view.

“Cly---” Clyde's name never leaves Kevin’s mouth fully before Clyde, as if chased by something dark and dangerous, hurries up to the second floor. Kevin leans out into the lobby but doesn’t go after Clyde. His hand stays on the frame like he needs it to hold himself up.

Eric rolls his eyes and walks into the lounge. “Great... More gay drama? Don’t we have enough of that with Craig and Tweek?”

Butters pops in after he rubs Kevin’s back. He waves at Kyle with a sunny smile. Kyle stiffens. His stomach sours then burns with anger thinking about the bastards (whoever they are --- he hasn’t figured it out yet) dragging Butters into this mess. How could anyone manipulate poor Butters and use him like a pawn? When the time is right, he’ll ask Butters. For now, he musters up the best smile he can in return and hope that Butters will be safe until then.

Eric glances around the lounge and huffs. “Speaking of homos, where the fuck is Keeny? I swear to God if he's late again, I’m gonna kick his useless white-trash ass then kick him out.”

“It’s not 11 yet,” Kevin says as he settles back into his spot on the couch. He drapes the headphones around his neck like a security blanket. His eyes focus on the screen and nowhere else. His fingers clack against the keys though it doesn’t sound like he’s typing anything coherent.

“Aww geez, Eric, you can’t kick Kenny out,” Butters says, grinding his knuckles as usual. “Who else is gonna find our customers for us?”

Kyle doesn't mean to eavesdrop but if they insist on having this conversation in front of him, who can blame him for listening? He looks at Butters then narrows his eyes at Eric. “Customers? What the hell are you up to, fatass?”

Eric taps his chin and stares up at the ceiling in faux deep thoughts. “What am I up to… Oh, I know.” Without missing a beat, he sticks up his middle finger and sneers. “None of your damn business, Kahl.”

“It is my business if you’re doing something shady in our room.” Crossing his arms, Kyle hardens his gaze on Eric. “What the hell is going on here? What are all these secret meetings? And now you're bringing Kevin into it too?”

“We’re just building an app,” Kevin answers offhandedly. He hasn’t looked up from the screen and his fingers haven’t stopped typing nothing in particular. “It’s not really a big deal.”

“Why is it a secret then?” Kyle keeps his eyes on Eric. “What kind of app are you making?”

Eric closes his eyes and breathes out through his mouth. “Goddammit, Kevin. Every time. Every fucking time!” He huffs and fists his hands. “Where’s Clyde’s fucking dick to shut your mouth when I need it?”

Kevin stops whatever he isn’t typing. His shoulders sag. Every time Clyde’s name is mentioned, it’s like someone drips a drop of acid on him. The way he holds in his misery, like he can’t let it go no matter how much it hurts. Like it’s the last gasps of air in his lungs as he drowns slowly. It turns Kyle’s stomach to see him like that.

Kyle takes a step toward Eric to give Kevin room to breathe. “Cartman, answer me, what the hell are you hiding? It’s not just an app, is it? I know you. You’re up to something. Why is it a secret?”

Butters hovers his hands like he’s scared Kyle might hit Eric. “We just don't want no one stealin’ our idea. That’s all. That’s why we gotta keep it real quiet.”

“Especially away from nosy ginger assholes,” Eric snipes. He backs up toward the room. “C’mon, Butters. You too, Kevin. We got work to do.”

“You won't get away with this,” Kyle says. “I’m going to find out what you’re doing and I’m going to stop you.”

“Suck my balls, Kahl!” Eric pushes open the door and steps in. “Butters!”

“Yessir!” Butters skitters forward then pauses to acknowledge their missing fourth person. “Oh, wait, but what about Kenny?”

“Fuck Keeny. We don’t need him,” Eric says as he slips into the room. “Kevin, you donkey-shit-for-brains! Get your ass here!”

Kevin stays behind, if only to unplug his laptop from the outlet and cradles it gingerly. He steals glances at the doorway, presumably hoping Clyde would be standing there with open arms. Though it is less of his business than the mysterious app Eric is building, Kyle steps closer nonetheless until he’s next to the armrest.

“Hey… are you okay?” Kyle asks.

“Huh? Yeah, I’m fine,” Kevin says, wrapping the power cord around and over the keyboard.

“I’m sorry about what’s happening with Clyde.” Kyle rubs the back of his neck at Kevin’s pressed lips and adds, “I overheard. That really sucks.”

Kevin stands with the laptop in his hands and totters between staying and answering Eric’s beckon. He shrugs it off, but Kyle knows he doesn’t mean it. “Thanks, I guess.”

“I know it’s none of my business, but I think he’s just - trying to figure things out. It’s not easy.”

“Yeah.” Kevin nods with a side gaze. When he speaks, his voice is rush and hesitant, as if he hasn’t shared his burden with anyone else and isn’t quite sure if he’s supposed to. “I wish he’d talk to me instead of avoiding me… but what can you do?”

“It’ll take time,” Kyle says. “But I do think that communication is key. You can’t solve anything if you don’t talk it out, right?”

Kevin shrugs again. “I guess. I just want my friend back. Didn’t think that’d be asking too much.”

To use Kevin’s lingo, now isn’t really the time to go off on a side quest, but what sort of protagonist would he be if he didn’t? And don’t side quests always come with valuable rewards, tangible or otherwise? Shuffling forward until he’s at the edge of the couch, Kyle knows regardless of rewards or not, he should help.

“Look - uh… I can try to talk to him for you… if you’d like.”

Kevin perks up then raises both brows in surprise and confusion. “Why?”

“Because... I want to help you. It sucks seeing you guys like this,” Kyle says, his eyes flickering at how embarrassing his words are. “It's killing everyone’s mood. I'm sure no one’s happy about it either.”

Kevin widens his eyes and shuffles. “That’s - um, wow - that’s really cool. That's more than anyone else has offered.”

Kyle smiles then dims it slightly. “Don’t get your hopes up though… I’m not sure how persuasive I can be when it comes to Clyde. He probably won’t even listen…”

Kevin laughs; it’s brittle but has a trace of hope in it. “Yeah, and you gotta get through Token and Craig first. Still… At this point, I'll take any help I can get. That’d be awesome if you could…”

“All right then. I’ll see what I can do,” Kyle says, pushing up his most confident smile. “Hopefully you guys can figure this out before I stick my nosy ginger hands in as Cartman would say.”

“Thank you, Kyle. Your benevolence will not be forgotten,” Kevin says, sounding more like his old self. He hugs the laptop to his chest, gives a nod of gratitude, then hustles to the room.

Kyle exhales slowly, drumming his fingers against his thigh and contemplating what just happened. Side quest accepted. Now begs the question if he can pass the charisma check to actually complete it in due time. He hurries out of the building, trying to get to his class on time (though it isn't going to start for another 15 minutes.)

Kenny didn't show up before he leaves.

* * *

On one hand, it’s good to see Thomas out of the hospital without all the tubes and machines hooked up to him. On the other, Kyle wishes it isn’t going to be the last time. He doesn’t remotely blame Thomas for withdrawing from school. The only thing he can blame is how they stepped up too late to help him. Maybe if they’d done more (whatever “more” might be), Thomas wouldn’t be packing up his room for his last day at CUSP. Guilty steps take him to the open door. He knocks to announce his presence even though Thomas has already seen him and is waving at him meekly.

“Hey, it’s good to see you,” Kyle says, his voice laced with forced politeness. “You look much better.”

“Thanks. Thanks for coming.” Thomas, still bandaged up where he needs it, sits on the bed. A load of fresh laundry is next to him, waiting to be loaded into the open suitcase. He fiddles with a shirt and starts folding it. “Pip is - aww shit! - getting us something to drink.”

“Oh, okay.” Kyle nods then takes in the barren room. Everything has been taken off the walls and most of Thomas’ belongings are already packed away in boxes crowding up the floor. “It looks like you’re almost done. Is there anything I can help you with?”

Thomas shakes his head with an equally forced smile. The awkwardness and unfamiliarity between them are palpable. “No. Thanks for offering though.”

Kyle nods again then takes a few steps closer toward Thomas. Thomas glances up at him then withdraws his gaze back to the piles of clothes. His lungs want to collapse as he studies the wounds that mar Thomas’ body and the ones he can’t see that mar Thomas’ soul. It knocks him off his feet to see Thomas suffer like this. He knows exactly now why Christophe was so convulsed with guilt.

“Thomas - I - I’m sorry.” Kyle lowers his head. His hands curl into fists as he draws a sharp breath. “This should have never happened to you. I’m sorry you had to go through this terrible experience - and I just… I just want you to know we aren’t going to give up until we find the people responsible. I swear it. Pip, David, and I are fighting back. We’ll find them.”

“No. Don’t,” Thomas says and shakes his head so many times that it must have made him dizzy. “Cockshit! I appreciate what you want to do but I don’t want revenge or anything. I just want to put this all behind me and forget all about it.”

“I understand that… but we can’t let them get away with it,” Kyle says, furrowing his brows a little “They’ve done so much damage and hurt so many people.”

Thomas grimaces with his lips stretched thin. “So what? So what if you catch them and throw them in jail for the rest of their lives? It’s not going to undo anything.”

“No - I know that… but they still have to pay for their crime,” Kyle says. “Look, I know it’s hard. I’m scared too, but if we walk away - if you walk away, they win.”

“Fine. They win. I don’t care. I didn’t want to be a part of it and I - shitfucker! - I won’t do it now either.” Thomas shakes his head and throws the shirt into the suitcase without care. “Nothing good will come out of what you’re doing. Just drop it, Kyle. It’s already gotten out of hand as it is.”

“Which is more reason why we need to take a stand together. Prove that we aren’t helpless victims. We won’t be swept under the rug and forgotten. We need you, Thomas.”

“No, no, no, I’m not doing this.” Thomas stares up at Kyle. His eyes are cornered like a cobra waiting to strike. “I’m not going to be anyone’s poster boy. Not Gregory’s. Not yours. Just leave me alone!”

“Thomas, I’m sorry, please, listen…” Kyle licks his lip as he formulates his thoughts. “I’m not going to make you do anything you aren’t comfortable with but… we could really use your help. I mean it. You matter. You’re so much stronger and braver than what those people make you think you are. We can’t do this by ourselves.”

“I don’t care! I don’t want to be strong or brave. I want to be _gone_. Just let it go!”

“Kyle, dearie,” Pip’s voice rings through like thunder. He stands at the doorway holding two bottles of soft drinks. His eyes lock in on Kyle with an intensity and fierceness that still Kyle’s blood. “You’re upsetting Thomas. Perhaps it’s best for you to go.”

Kyle looks at Thomas gripping his clothes like they’re shields. His heart sinks at how out of line he was. He lowers his gaze and nods. “I’m sorry, Thomas. I didn’t mean to upset you. I want you to be happy and safe… I’m sorry.”

“It’s cool,” Thomas mutters after a shaky breath. “It was good seeing you. Thanks for coming out.”

“Yeah, it’s no problem. Take care of yourself, please. Pip has my number if you… like to stay in touch.” Kyle chews the inside of his lip at Thomas’ silence. He glances up at Pip then drops his gaze again to the floor as he takes his leave. “I’ll… call you later, Pip?”

Pip smiles, looking more like the Pip Kyle knows than the stony protective person he was seconds ago. “Sure, love, I’m looking forward to it. Ta.”

Kyle stalls for one lasting look at the emptying room and Thomas shoveling the laundry into the suitcase in a frantic hurry. It doesn’t lessen his resolve. If nothing else, he wants more than ever to put an end to everything.

The question is… how the fuck is he going to do that?

* * *

“Wait - slow down. Who’s Firkle again?”

“Wow, thanks, Kyle. I’ve only told you about him, like, a million times,” Ike says on the other line. Though Kyle can’t see it, he can hear Ike’s eye roll.

Kyle rolls his eyes in matching response. He presses the phone closer to his ear as he passes through a particularly loud crowd on his way back to the dorm. “I’m sorry. You’re so popular, I get confused with all the names.”

“Firkle! My best friend?” Ike says after a long groan. “You know, Goth kid? Plays the drums? Stabbed a guy in the school parking lot?”

Kyle purses his lips. “I thought Filmore was your best friend.”

“You fucking suck! You never listen!”

“Don’t take that tone with me,” Kyle says after switching ears. “And I’m sorry... I do remember now you said something about Filmore being a dick.”

“He totally is! You know I found out he tried to sabotage me so I wouldn’t win the class election. I’m so not talking to him ever again.”

“Wow, what an asshole.” Kyle frowns. “Good thing you wiped the floor with him.”

“Hell yeah. He never stood a chance anyway. That’s why he tried to fuck me over.”

“Ike - language, please,” Kyle says as he cuts through the student commons to seek temporary refuge from the grueling October weather. The sun is on its way down; each passing second steals a strip of warmth. “Anyway, what about Firkle?”

“Oh yeah, so I was thinking of asking him to the winter formal. It’s not until December but I wanted to ask now so no one can beat me to it. What do you think?”

“Uh - sure? I don’t see why not. Why are you asking me anyway?” Kyle pauses then bites his lip. “ _What_ are you asking me?”

“Well…” Ike lowers his voice. “He’s a guy.”

“Right.”

“And I’m a guy.”

“Right.”

“So…”

“Right.” Kyle clears his throat and walks off to the side. He leans against the wall, staring at the crowd minding their own business, and sighs softly. The words come easy. Not forced. Not rehearsed. “Ike, I love you no matter what. You know that. If this feels right to you, then go for it. I’m with you 100 percent… and it’s not like I’m not… you know… in the same boat.”

“Cool. Sweet. Awesome. I’m gonna do it,” Ike says. Kyle can feel Ike’s smiling ear-to-ear. “But what about Mom…?”

“Don't worry about Mom. She might pick your class schedule for you but she won't choose who you have feelings for. She’ll understand,” Kyle says, resuming his journey to his room. “Hey, uh, he didn’t really stab someone, did he?”

“Oh yeah, man, he totally did,” Ike chuckles. “It was awesome!”

Kyle cringes from double chills. “Oh… Kay... God… Tell me you’re joking.”

“It’s cool. That guy had it coming.”

Kyle shakes his head though Ike can’t see it. “I'm officially having second thoughts about this Firkle.”

“Too late! You already said I can ask,” Ike says. Kyle imagines he must be wearing a shit-eating grin right now. “I'm going with Firkle to the dance, and you should go to the party with Stan.”

“The - what? What party?” Kyle frowns again. He picks up his pace as he draws close to the home stretch. He smiles briefly at Clyde and Craig coming the opposite way toward the campus. He definitely needs to bump talking to Clyde about Kevin up on the list of things he needs to take care of. For now, his attention is set on his brother. “Ike, what are you talking about?”

“Oh shit - he didn't ask yet? Kenny said Stan was gonna ask you to some Halloween party. Uh - for the frat or something?”

“Kenny -?” Kyle does a double-take at the name. “Who's - Wait, you don’t mean Kenny McCormick, do you?”

“Uh… yeah? Unless you know another Kenny that hangs out with Stan?”

Kyle slows down as if that'll help him understand what's happening better. “You - talk to Kenny? How?”

“We're friends on Facebook. Duh,” Ike says like it's not a startling revelation.

Kyle wasn’t even friends with Kenny on Facebook (then again, he doesn’t Facebook much), yet his little brother is apparently close enough to Kenny that they talk. While his opinion of Kenny has changed, the whole situation isn’t right, especially since he knows nothing about it. “Yeah… No, I don't know about that. That - That's kinda messed up.”

“Why? Kenny's cool and he listens way better than you do. And I know his sister. She’s super nice.”

Kyle smells the cigarette first. Way before he sees Christophe waiting at the steps of his building. He grips the phone, hearing that Ike is still talking but not registering any words. When Christophe looks at him, Kyle’s heart soars then plummets to the bottom of his stomach.

Ike says, “Hello? Earth to Kyle? You still there?”

“Ike, I need to call you back. And don't think I'm letting this Kenny thing go.”

“‘kay, whatever. Hey, go to the party! Stan wants you to!”

Kyle hangs up, not fully aware if he said good-bye to Ike before he did. He edges forward in slow and cautious steps, as if the ground might give out under him any second. Christophe picks dirt from under his nails. The cigarette hangs between his lips but he isn’t actively smoking it. The ashes collect then fall to sprinkle over his worn and dirty jeans. His eyes, weighed down with dark circles, are lusterless and spent. Even his signature stare lacks its usual menace. He looks exhausted to his bones, running on whatever fume the nicotine can provide. Wherever he was, it has taken a serious toll on Christophe.

Kyle stands a distance away with his hand gripped around the strap of his bag. “Do Pip and them know you're back? They were worried about you.” The others might understand and even tolerate Christophe’s random disappearance, but it’s so characteristically selfish of Christophe to think it wouldn't affect them.

Christophe doesn't show any hint of emotion, remorse or otherwise. He plucks the smoke out of his mouth and dangles it between two fingers. “That so? Funny how none of them came looking for me.”

“They didn't know where you would be. How would they know where to find you?” Kyle says with a tense face. “I know you're going for the dark and mysterious vibe, but you should know it's not right for you to pull that shit with them. They deserve better from you.”

If Christophe cares about what Kyle thought, he sure doesn't give the reaction he wants. He flicks his half-smoked cigarette haphazardly to the ground, letting it burn a hole through the thin layer of frost, then slips his hands into his pocket as he backs away from the steps. “Come with me.”

Kyle raises his brow and instinctively leans back like Christophe will come grab him. “Why?”

“I have something for you,” and that’s all the explanation Christophe is willing to give.

“What is it?”

Christophe answers surprisingly without any lost patience, “You'll see when you come.”

Kyle shakes his head, firm and decisive. He stands his ground literally and straightens up to reclaim the space he gave up. “Tell me what you want to show me first, then I'll decide if I want to come with you to not.”

Weariness sprawls across Christophe’s face; even his eyes seem to dim into a duller shade of brown. His voice is frighteningly soft. Almost heartbroken. “You don't trust me.”

The words pierce through Kyle like knives. It’s so bizarre to see Christophe so vulnerable and weak. Who would’ve thought Christophe have that kind of fragility in him? He can’t begin to comprehend why Christophe is letting his walls down now. Why now? Why him? What exactly has happened in the time he was gone?

Christophe goes on, “You want my friendship but you won't give me your trust.”

“You said you couldn't be friends with me,” Kyle blurts out to defend his hesitation.

“I thought the offer stands regardless.”

“Look…” Kyle drops his hand from his bag strap and hooks it around his other arm instead. He sighs then captures Christophe with a gaze. “Maybe Gregory and Damien can never question what you are up to, but I can't do that. If we're going to do this - if we’re going to be friends, I need you to be honest and upfront with me. No secrets.”

“I can't give you that,” Christophe replies immediately. “You trust me or you don't. That's it.” He takes a step back. “You coming or not?”

Even if Christophe didn't respect his wish in the past, Kyle has to accept that Christophe did it in what he thought was his best interest. Christophe’s methods are questionable, and his attitude even worse, but Kyle has to give the benefit of doubt that Christophe does come with good intention.

“Kyle,” Christophe calls. Last chance.

“Fine. Fine.” Kyle holds his hands up. What’s the worst that can happen? If nothing else, Christophe has proven to be an exceptional bodyguard and protection is valuable these days. He walks up the steps as he gestures to his bag. “Fine. Can I put my stuff down first? I’m guessing we aren’t going to the library for study group.”

At Christophe's nod, Kyle makes a quick pit stop at his room. He comes back out a few minutes later. As he pushes through the front doors, out of the corner of his eyes, he sees a blob of orange walking across the second floor lounge. Right, Kenny. He’s going to have a serious talk with him about what the hell Kenny’s doing with Ike. The winter chill greets him as he paces back to meet up with Christophe, while the last rays of daylight turn the sky salmon and fuchsia. Before he can say anything, Christophe takes off without waiting.

“It’s a long walk,” Christophe says, igniting a new cigarette. He draws a huff then holds the smoke between two exposed fingers; his back turned to Kyle the whole time as he leads the way.

“Where are we going?” Kyle cups his phone tucked in the safety and warmth of his pocket.

“You’ll know when we get there,” Christophe expectantly answers. He glances at Kyle sideway and adds, “Still working on the trust thing?”

“You can’t blame me for being careful,” Kyle says, keeping the pace Christophe sets for them. Not too close that they’re walking side-by-side, but not too far that he’s trailing behind. He walks in the same way that best describes their relationship - with Christophe being always one step ahead. “I want to trust you. I really do... but that’s the kind of thing you have to earn.”

“I wouldn't hurt you,” Christophe says, but it sounds like he's trying to convince himself than Kyle. “Whatever I do, I do it because I want to help you.”

Kyle’s breathing skips a beat. “... Thanks. You don’t have to do that for me.” He closes his mouth before any more word can come out. Whatever he wants to say, nothing sounds right. He stares at Christophe's back and watches the puffs of white smoke vanish into the backdrop of dying light.

The rest of the walk - and it is a long walk off campus and to the bad side of town - is in silence. Christophe eventually stops outside an old warehouse. Kyle glances at the decrepit " _CARL’S WAREHOUSE”_ sign hanging by its last leg above the door then checks their surrounding. It’s quiet; the only sounds are his rapid heartbeats and Christophe fiddling with the locks. A buzz in his pocket takes his attention away from what Christophe is doing.

Ike texts: _He said no._

Kyle quickly texts back: _I’m sorry, buddy. Call you later._

Sliding the phone back into his pocket, he counts the locks Christophe are working through. What kind of abandoned warehouse needs five different types of locks? The kind that holds a lot of secrets, he bets. “Is this your secret lair?”

“No,” Christophe responds as he undoes the final padlock on the rotting door. “It’s the Resistance’s.”

“Holy shit. Are you serious?” Kyle nearly chokes on the sudden breath he takes. He steps up closer behind Christophe. He stares at the last lock anxiously, willing it to come undone faster so he can see what the Resistance is hoarding inside the warehouse. Then doubt curls up his spine. He fixes his gaze onto Christophe again. “Why did you bring me here?”

“I told you already. I want to help you.” Christophe unlocks the last lock then pushes the door open. It creaks, and it’s too dark to see what’s inside with the windows boarded up. Christophe holds the door open and gestures for Kyle to go in. “After you.”

The warehouse smells of gasoline, rust, and mildew. Kyle squints like he’ll see any better. Behind him, Christophe closes the door. Darkness swallows them whole for a split moment before the ceiling lights cackle to life. It takes a second for Kyle to adjust to the sudden change in visibility. There’s not much to see inside. Two steel pillars stand like guardians. Between them a “Viva La Resistance” banner hangs. Beyond that is a large board tacked with various pieces of paper and photographs like a typical investigation board. Leave it to Gregory and Wendyl for their theatrical flair.

Kyle would’ve gone straight for the board if it weren’t for the spool table that sits in front of the pillars. But it isn’t even the table that hinders his track; it’s the person tied up around it with his hair matted with blood and his nose broken that stops Kyle from going forward. Kyle knows he stops breathing. Dizziness takes a hold of him. His eyes are blown wide. His mouth parts, but no sound will come.

“Kyle,” Trent Boyett says as he looks up with a bruised eye. His grin is sharp like his teeth. His voice, though hoarse, still rattles every bone in Kyle. “Missed me?”

Kyle staggers back, surprised that his muscles can even move right now. He snaps his head back at Christophe. His brain can’t register any thought or sound. His phone buzzes in his pocket but he can’t even really feel it.

Christophe locks the door from the inside. He turns to lean against it as the last measure of security. Tired eyes meet Kyle’s stare. “He’s all yours.”

How the fuck does Christophe think this is helping him?


End file.
